


Choices

by MidnightValkyrie



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Co-workers, Dirty Talk, F/M, I'll Be Back In January!, Light Bondage, Masturbation, Ministry of Magic (Harry Potter), Panic Attacks, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Pureblood Culture (Harry Potter), Sex Toys, Sexual Fantasy, Slow Burn, Smut, Stalking, TEMPORARY Hiatus, Veela Draco Malfoy, Veela Mates, dramione - Freeform, lots of smut
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-01-04
Updated: 2020-09-05
Packaged: 2021-02-27 12:28:43
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 30
Words: 168,872
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22117129
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MidnightValkyrie/pseuds/MidnightValkyrie
Summary: The choices you make shape your future. After so long of having them stripped from you, you'll do anything if it means you get to be the master of your own destiny for once.
Relationships: Hermione Granger/Draco Malfoy
Comments: 505
Kudos: 1078





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: This fic will post every Saturday until it's complete plus on a few bonus dates. I will be updating the tags as I go, so keep an eye out for that. I look forward to this adventure with you all.
> 
> Giant shout out to NuclearNik and Monica03 for being both my Alpha and Beta and also to MarshmallowMcgonagall for being my Omega (pre-reader). Without all the hand holding and encouragement, this work would not exist. <3
> 
> Disclaimer: I own nothing

When does one begin to forgive?

Is it when you realize that you become what you’re immersed in? Is it when terrified gray eyes meet yours across a drawing room and all he can do is refuse to identify you? Is it when he forbids his cronies from using Unforgivables in the Room of Requirement? Or is it later? Maybe it’s after the battle is won and you’re speaking for him in front of the Wizengamot because he really doesn’t deserve to go to Azkaban for being a child in a monumentally difficult situation where there’s really no feasible choice to be made outside of the theoretical ones that the people who don’t have to live with the fallout pose. It’s so easy to stand back and judge in the aftermath when you’re free of the consequences and with no appreciation of the situation as it’s lived. 

Maybe that’s where it starts. When you realize that he's really just walked a parallel path next to you, except his is on the other side of the drawn line. When you discover that everything after a certain point has been out of survival instead of belief and desire, and you can’t help but wonder where that invisible point of no return lays, whether it was when you met on the train at eleven years old or on a battlefield seven years later or any of the thousands of points between those two pieces of time. The realization that there  _ is _ no out to the situation at hand and that you just have to play the cards you’re dealt in the smartest way possible, just to make it through to see the next round or even the next sunrise. Maybe that’s where the empathy starts, and you can begin to heal and learn and grow and move on to the rest of your life, to bigger and better things as you do indeed begin to forgive and then later wholly so in the fullness of time.

Hermione knew that she wasn’t fully at the end of the realization because the fullness of time was not quite here yet, but she felt that she was nearing the precipice that came before that. She had been able to step back and think things through objectively during the time away from her two best friends that she used to study and sit for her N.E.W.T.s, seeing as she had been unable to return to redo her Seventh Year at Hogwarts.

Her eyes spied a familiar flash of platinum, and she tracked her gaze back across the room to find him. When she spotted him again, he was standing across the hall, leaning against the wall. Blaise was on one side and Theo on his other, as if they were creating a buffer for him. He’d passed through her mind at the most random of times since she’d testified for him.

Sometimes it was when she was with her friends, and she wondered if he had been able to reconcile with his own friends after his father had turned on so many of his fellow Death Eaters.

Sometimes it was when she was watching Harry and Ginny zoom across the sky at the Burrow, and she would wonder if he was able to have the simple happiness from flying again, having remembered his obnoxious bragging from the First Year’s flying class. Hermione had heard some people’s punishment after the war involved not being able to fly a broom and had been curious if his wings had been clipped too.

At other times it was when she was alone, and she wondered if he came away from the whole thing as damaged as she was and hoped he wasn’t.

Brown eyes briefly met dark blue as Theo turned his head, and she realized she was staring. She turned her head in time to accept the glass of champagne that Harry was trying to get her attention with and graciously accepted the flute. She sipped it and chatted with Harry, listening offhandedly as Ginny chided Ron for piling a plate as high as he could with hors d'oeuvres rather than eating like a civilized person. At least some things never changed.

Harry’s attention was eventually called elsewhere, much to his exasperation. All of a sudden Hermione looked up and realized just how full this hall was of people and just how many of them she didn’t know. Heat prickled at her skin uncomfortably as her stomach roiled. Her eyes shifted everywhere, cataloging everyone and everything. Her wand was holstered to her forearm under long sleeves, just a moment’s reach away, although somewhere in the back of her mind was the knowledge that she should refrain from doing this at all costs. Her beaded bag was on her hip. It had everything necessary to go on the run indefinitely and quite comfortably this time around. She subconsciously began cataloging people as her eyes came across them but once she got to the other side of the room, she stumbled. Theo was still there, along with Blaise, but Malfoy was missing, and now he’d thrown her entire train of thought off. Subsequently, it was the only thing keeping her calm so she resorted to the last thing she knew to do: flee. 

She said nothing to her companions but began to head to the back of the hall, just not to the main doors that opened up to the large courtyard where there were even more people about. No, she went left down the largely empty corridor. The passageway had dimmed considerably from where it opened at the large room but something called to her, telling her an exit was imminent if she just kept going.

Minutes later she slipped out the door of the Manor house that this particular gala was being hosted at this month and breathed in the cool air, sucking it down by the lungful as she desperately tried to get her breathing under control. Yet again, her newly acquired panic reared its ugly head when she was in a crowd. It wasn’t the first one she’d slipped out of and if she had to keep attending them, she somehow knew it wouldn’t be the last. It wasn’t enough, the night terrors, the new habit of food hoarding, the constant requirement for her peace of mind to be prepared for literally anything. Her beaded bag was on her person at all times, tonight pretending to be a broach. Of course, that wasn’t enough, and she had to add that she now panicked when she was around too many people at once and couldn’t keep track of everyone in attendance.

That had been the most belatedly realized gift she’d received from the Battle of Hogwarts, an odd form of agoraphobia. Hermione was fine if she knew everyone who was present but if not, her mind seemed to want to play tricks by making her think she’d seen someone who wasn’t actually there or someone who’d died on that fateful night. Her biggest moments of terror outside of the major events were during the battle when she hadn’t been engaged in a duel. It had been the times she’d come within a breath of cursing someone who was on her side, oftentimes someone she knew. Those near-misses had branded themselves into her memory enough to do this to her.

The clacking of heels on stone coupled with her own pounding heart had drowned out the sound of her name being called from near where she’d exited. All she knew was that she needed to leave, to get home and away from this place before she landed herself in St. Mungo’s psych ward with Neville’s parents. Hermione consulted the mental map of the place she’d constructed and headed off towards where she intuitively guessed the Apparition point to be. Her chest was still heaving and why couldn’t she get enough air?

Her mind was reeling. She still didn’t draw her wand, not knowing if it was safe to any potential bystanders, but she badly wanted to. Even just the feel of it in her hand was calming, grounding. It made her feel in control again.

The deep, familiar voice calling her name didn’t penetrate the haze her mind was wrapped in until Hermione finally lost her footing on the cobblestone and went to tumble. Strong arms pulled her back into a hard, warm chest as he heaved her back upright. The slamming of her heart almost blocked out his voice as he began to coach her to breathe. In through the nose and out through the mouth, slowly.

He had to have been familiar, else she would have already cursed him to Bulgaria and back.  _ Safe _ , an inner voice intoned. He laced their fingers together and began counting, ordering her to breathe in with him to the slow count of four, hold for seven, release for eight. His fingertips tapped along the back of her hand with each count, back and forth along her metacarpals. The feel of him breathing in time with her helped to slowly bring her back to Earth, helped her to wrestle everything back in line.

Finally, when everything settled and the sound of tinkling fountains streamed back into her world, she found herself standing still circled in strong arms. She turned to see who’d saved her and jerked a bit as brown eyes met a pair of calm gray ones.

“Malfoy!” Surprise colored her features.

“Granger,” he greeted again, now that she could actually hear him.

He stepped away a foot or so to give her space, sitting down on the side of a fountain and pulling out a cigarette. Lighting up, he watched as she studied her surroundings. She hadn’t been out here before but took comfort that even in the midst of panic, she had indeed known where the closest apparition point had been.

“Crowd?” he asked absently.

She paused a moment before nodding faintly as she took a moment to look at him. He was dressed impeccably as always, hair perfectly in place, posture immaculate. There was something in the set of his eyes, however, that spoke of exhaustion. She knew because she saw it in the mirror every single day. She would bet that some glamour charms were in use.

A pale, long-fingered hand patted the space next to him and reluctantly, she sat. She fidgeted, playing with her fingers as he studied her from his peripheral vision in perfect stillness.

“I’ve had that same reaction. Only advice I have for you is to keep calming draughts on hand and find a vantage point where you’re on the outskirts. For the events held at the Manor, I go up to the second-story balcony. So few people know how to get up there that it makes it tolerable,” he said, rambling to put her at ease.

She nodded. “That makes sense. It’s just difficult since I don’t know most of these places,” she said, shrugging.

It was surprising he would reveal this to her of all people. Maybe there was something to be said of kindred sufferers.

“I can help next time, if you like,” he offered lowly, glancing at her to gauge her response.

She waited a beat, staring back into those steady eyes. Desperately, Hermione wished she could wear a mask as well as he.

“I would appreciate that, thank you,” she said with a small smile, “and I also appreciate your help earlier.”

He merely nodded before putting out his finished cigarette and vanishing the evidence with a wave of his fingers.

The desire to get back home to her warm, soft bed made itself known again and she stood, him following suit.

“I’ll walk you out,” he offered, holding his arm out. Hermione caught a glint in the light and noticed he was still wearing the same silver thumb ring he always had.

She nodded in thanks and let him lead her, his warm hand on her back, to a decorative gated grotto. He stopped on the other side, watching as she passed through the wards and pulled her wand.

“I’ll owl you,” he said.

She waited a beat, stunned. She had no idea why he would owl her of all people, but she supposed she would just have to wait and find out.

“I’ll be looking for it,” she replied, staring into his eyes once more before Disapparating with the smallest pop.

She arrived at her destination next to the superfluous mailbox, hurrying up the walk and into her warm house, immediately feeling relief when she got inside. After she’d shucked her dress, had half a bottle of wine and a long soothing, steaming hot bath, she allowed her mind to replay the events in the garden. A thousand questions spun through her mind that she had not the faintest inclination of an answer to.

They’d not spoken two words to each other since his trial when he’d thanked her before disappearing down the hall with Narcissa to get processed out and released. He’d hated her since they’d met at eleven years old when he’d first shown her exactly how much like Lucius he could be, and it had largely not changed over the years. Although, she realized with some thought, that after a certain point they had mainly ignored one another, and Draco seemed to reserve all of his animosity for Harry and Ron. She put the entire thing out of her mind, intent on enjoying the bubbles while they lasted.

Two hours, dinner, and a rom-com later, she heard the tapping of an owl at her window.

She didn’t know whether to be surprised at seeing Hades, Malfoy’s eagle owl, or not. She’d almost expected him to have said it out of politeness if she hadn’t already known that when he said that he would do something, he meant it. She’d heard he’d been punished by Voldemort himself for his hesitation to kill Dumbledore and again after they’d escaped the Manor. There was no telling what Voldemort had forced Draco to do under duress in all that time from the summer before Sixth Year until the Final Battle. Whatever it was, it had resulted in a tangible change from the spoiled, pompous, my-father-will-hear-about-this blonde brat he’d been into a quiet, reserved man.

She gave the owl a few treats and watched as he flew back off, closing up behind him. Back to the couch she went, to the remnants of the earlier opened bottle of wine and chocolate torte she’d been picking at.

The note was on thick, expensive cardstock, sealed with silver wax and the Malfoy crest. Popping the seal, she was surprised at the lunch invitation for the next day.

She stared at it while debating. She had a thousand questions she wanted answers to. Least of all, why did she feel safe tucked against him as he coached her back to rationality? Why had he done it in the first place? Had he changed his beliefs at all? Question after question zipped through her brain before she finally tossed the note down and summoned some stationary of her own. If she wanted answers, she’d have to meet with him.

Hermione quickly wrote a reply to send off in the morning before going to bed, wondering exactly when she fell down the rabbit hole into a world where Malfoy calming her, relating to her, and asking her out to lunch wasn’t insane. She batted the thought away again of how she had felt safe when he’d pulled her against him. That was too much to add to the pile for one day.

She finally got settled in bed before going through her sleep ritual of relaxing every muscle in her body and shutting off her thoughts.

That night she dreamed of long, strong fingers counting down over and over against her skin as a low voice spoke into her ear.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I own nothing
> 
> A/N: Shout out to my glorious Alphas/Betas NuclearNik and Monica03 for tidying up my work and to my Omega (pre-reader) Marshmallow McGonagall. I hope you are all having a lovely Saturday, see you next week!

Hermione didn’t know what to expect when she arrived at the little sandwich shop later that week. Since the end of the war, Draco Malfoy had been an enigma. She and Harry both had spoken at Draco and Narcissa’s trials, well over a year and a half ago. Lucius had been murdered in Azkaban six months into his five-year sentence. After the year-long house arrest had ended, Draco had become a rumor rather than a fixture in Wizarding society. It was too iffy when it came to whom you could trust and whom you couldn’t. One never knew who harbored ill will for things you did during the war. Like when Narcissa looked Voldemort dead in the eye and lied to him. Lucius had told the minister a lot about other Death Eaters, secret supporters, and all other sorts of inside information.

To Hermione's understanding, the only person Narcissa saw nowadays was her sister, Andromeda, and her nephew, Teddy. Occasionally, Harry would visit with them but not often. Hermione suspected that Narcissa took regular trips to Wizarding France so she wasn’t cooped up inside the Manor constantly. Not that she blamed either of them. It’s not like she prowled Diagon daily either.

Life seemed like it might be manageable until all the fundraisers started. The galas, balls, and all of the press opportunities had shed light on the cracks in her shell. The Ministry had already taken reparations, but most of the upper-class pure-blood families had hardly been touched, even after everything they’d paid. So the Ministry dangled the thing that mattered most to them in front of their faces: a chance to get back in the good graces of society. All they had to do was host parties in their homes and welcome war heroes of all sorts. You got more points if reporters from outside the country were in attendance so that the rest of the world could see “proof” that they were rebuilding Wizarding society after the war. Skepticism was all Hermione could muster for media outlets anymore.

She had discovered she hadn’t come out of the war unscathed at the first post-war Weasley dinner. She’d had to retreat when her fingers kept reaching for her wand and the bats in her stomach hadn’t stopped rioting. She hadn’t expected to come out whole, but she also didn’t anticipate coming out  _ this  _ damaged either. 

There was also the lingering nightmares about the futures of Harry and Ron that plagued her. Harry’s lingering hero complex had left her with a revolving door of grisly visages. Her fingers clenched at her hair when she unwillingly daydreamed about the road he may walk someday. When she thought about how he could come away mauled, much like Moody had been, both inside and out. It made her stomach clench when the idea of extremes invited itself to the party. Flashes of green light playing across her mind’s eye had sent her running to the loo more than once.

Ron suffered differently than she and Harry had. He lost a brother and the fallout of it followed him everywhere. He would ponder for hours if he would’ve been able to save Fred had he done just one little thing differently here or there. She’d tried to explain what survivor’s guilt was. She’d said he needed therapy or counseling, and that tormenting himself was unhealthy. An explosion of that famous Weasley temper and slammed doors was all she’d ever gotten in return.

She’d changed gears and instead wrote Molly a letter advising that the entire family should see a counselor to help deal with the grief they were all drowning in, but in a healthy way. She had not received a letter back, but the pitying looks the matron bestowed upon her taught her another lesson about the Wizarding World. Counseling and therapy weren’t utilized in Wizarding Britain. It seemed they viewed it much the same way she viewed Divination; something quite woolly and not to be relied upon.

When it came to examining herself she’d refused to wear rose-colored glasses. She’d looked in the mirror and admitted what she saw despite how it made the skin between her shoulder blades itch. 

Despite how she’d prepared for weeks and weeks before they went on the run to hunt the Horcruxes, they’d found themselves badly unprepared. By the time everything was said and done, she’d been dangerously thin and malnourished. The first moment she’d escaped the watchful eyes of Harry and the Weasleys, she’d gone to a Muggle supermarket and bought three baskets piled with canned goods. She’d gone home, triplicated her Hogwarts trunk, and filled two of them with her purchases. A stasis and featherlight charm had been cast on both of them before she shrank them and put them in the beaded bag. She’d then give to another store and loaded up on perishable goods. It received the same treatment and joined the other two trunks. Food hadn’t been the only problem, so survivalist gear had joined everything else in the pit. 

After Ollivander opened his shop back up, she’d secured a meeting with him after closing time. While she didn’t need to replace her wand, she wanted to buy two extras and  _ hadn’t _ been above reminding him of how they’d saved him from Malfoy Manor’s cellar to get what she needed. The boxes to those wands were made secure with an unbreakable charm before they’d been stuffed alongside the other supplies. She’d continued to accrue things until it became too difficult to summon things out of the bag. The accessory never left her possession, even if she had to disguise it as she had at the gala. 

Not all of her new habits were unhealthy, however. One of her main night terrors involved running from the snatchers. No matter how hard or fast she ran in her nightmares, they always caught her, and they didn’t always take her to Malfoy Manor first. So every morning at dawn she ran mile upon mile until her chest burned and her legs refused to take another step. Simple diagnostic charms allowed her to track her progress which she kept diligent notes on, complete with charts. Come rain, cold, snow, or sun, she ran daily no matter what. Sometimes she returned to the Forest of Dean or other similar locations for terrain training. She knew the obsessions were unhealthy, just like she knew she needed help like she’d been needling the others to get, but she couldn’t bring herself to do it quite yet. She just couldn’t. She kept telling herself she would and telling herself she would and kept putting it off. Tomorrow and tomorrow and tomorrow.

Eventually she was going to have to muster the courage to stop running from it and face it. She couldn’t tell what was worse: knowing these things and not doing it, or being in denial.

She stopped her woolgathering and went inside, quickly looking around to take note of all the occupants before moving to the table to sit adjacent to Malfoy. She’d taken him in as she walked over. He was dressed impeccably as ever in a dark gray suit, crisp white shirt, matching gray waistcoat, and a silver silk tie. Every strand of hair was in perfect place and his posture was as impeccable as ever. He looked delicious.

Wait, what? No.  _ Fuck no _ . She wrestled that bout of stupidity into submission as she took in their vantage point. 

He had chosen a table for them in the back corner so each of them could keep their backs to the wall. When she sat down, he motioned to a server who delivered a tea service and went away with their sandwich orders. Draco silently poured for them both. She blinked when he fixed her tea for her. He added two cubes of sugar and a dash of milk before stirring it and setting it in front of her. 

Only under the threat of death would she admit that she knew his preference too. He preferred honey and was more heavy-handed with the milk than she was. Despite hating each other, after six years you were bound to notice some things. Their server dropping off their orders derailed her train of thought and instead of returning to them, she picked up her teacup. She took a sip and noted that it was perfect. 

Once she’d partaken of her tea, he did the same. They ate and drank in silence, casually studying one another as if it was a recurring Tuesday lunch date. The longer they were near one another, the more she realized that something was different. She’d been wound tight when she’d arrived, but since then most of the tension had bled away like air from a punctured balloon. Just like that night at Greengrass Manor, when she was near him, something settled inside her, and she felt a calmness like she hadn’t in ages. As if she’d walked around with her shoulders bunched up around her ears since Sixth Year. It took some pondering for her to understand what she was feeling was safety. 

Safety? Here with Draco Malfoy? Well that made no fucking sense. She blinked, shoving the thoughts in the same trunk as the ones that had admired him earlier and locking it for the time being.

Her skin prickled as he studied her. She saw the resolve settle in his silver eyes before he began to speak in that slow, certain drawl he’d always had, confident and assured. She wondered how many times he’d practiced before coming to Hogwarts. He apologized for every time he called her a Mudblood, for every time he had looked down on her, and for every time he thought she was less than. He apologized for how they had talked about her in the common room, for how he had wished her dead in their Second Year when the Chamber of Secrets had opened, and how he had overall made her life unnecessarily difficult. 

He confessed to have stopped believing in all that rubbish in its entirety the summer after Fifth Year. After Voldemort took up residence in his home and tortured him, his mother, and his father. After being forced to watch as his aunt and several others brought in Muggle-borns and Muggles to treat them as if they were animals. How the Death Eaters tortured them ruthlessly before killing them. He too had been Crucioed before by his aunt when she thought he hadn’t showed her the proper respect and it just confirmed for him what he had been suspecting for a long time—that there was no real difference. Just madness, fear of the unknown, and a burning desire to rule all and sundry.

It was the strangest thing to Hermione, that she believed him without suspicion; there wasn’t anything in the back of her mind screamed false. She suspected it had something to do with whatever made her feel safe around him. Was she cursed somehow? It was an odd quality, and she was determined to get to the bottom of it. However, his eyes never wavered from hers nor had he closed off his expression.

“I believe you, and I forgive you. I never got a chance to thank you for not identifying us that night they brought us to your home,” she said.

“I should’ve done something, I should’ve killed her instead of letting her curse you and carve you up.” 

“I’m glad you didn’t. It would’ve eaten at you for the rest of your life. She was your aunt, not some random Death Eater. Besides, you’re not a killer, Draco.”

“Still, I should’ve done  _ something _ , anything except for just stand there and stare. I could’ve stunned her, taken her wand, or a whole number of other things,” he said, fingers clenching his refreshed teacup.

“What do you think Greyback or any of the others present would’ve done? What would your father have done in the name of saving face so it wouldn’t get reported back that your family was a weakness, Order or Mudblood sympathizers?” She asked gently.

“It would’ve been ugly. I would have been Crucioed, just like you’d been. Father would have done it himself until he was certain my actions wouldn’t have endangered my mother,” he answered.

She could tell it had been a recurring scenario for him ever since the incident occurred. The answer was too practiced, too accepted. Then she considered something else. Had it been discussed between father and son? Had Lucius read the desire in his eyes to intervene and confronted him later? Threatened him in case any future incident occurred? 

“And you went through absolute hell Sixth Year to ensure her safety and to pay for your father’s sins from his little mishap with us in the Department of Mysteries at the end of Fifth Year. It wouldn’t have been worth all that time and agony to throw it all away then. She wasn’t going to kill me, not when it would’ve made me a martyr, a symbol. If anything I would have been a bargaining chip to get back some of the Death Eaters the Order had caught and were privately keeping, since Azkaban was unreliable. Even more likely, she would have just let Greyback have me for whatever he wanted,” she said simply.

She could tell by the way he glanced out the window and clenched his jaw that the idea upset him even further.

The idea of her being given away like some mindless animal to be maimed and tortured until they tired of her was a haunting one. The thought of being made into a sex slave hadn’t escaped her meandering mind and vivid imagination as it explored the dark avenues of alternative realities. Many nightmares had featured what could’ve happened had they given her to Greyback as his reward. 

She slid her hand across the tablecloth to rest on Draco's which brought his eyes back to hers in short order. That curious peace had enveloped her again at the contact.

“You did the best thing you could have done in that situation, and that was to deny you knew who we were,” she said firmly, but not unkindly. “I think we both know that if they had immediately identified Harry, they would’ve summoned Voldemort, and we would’ve lost. Instead, we escaped.”

He didn’t argue with her but his eyes traveled along her forearm, which was covered in long sleeves despite the warm weather. The self-hatred he’d revealed during his confession burned there for it to have happened. His hand was lax underneath hers but his arm was tense.

She let it work itself out and eventually he relaxed again, his eyes pulling up to meet hers. She made to pull her arm back only for him to flip his hand and catch her fingers in a gentle grip. It would have been easy to pull out of it, but it just felt right to feel her fingers in his larger, calloused ones. She could tell that he rode his broom frequently and wrote often.

“I’m surprised they don’t have therapists in the Wizarding World,” she muttered.

His thumb traced lazy circuits around her knuckles, “You’re looking for the wrong thing,” he said simply.

She cocked her head to the side. “Okay, what should I be looking for?” 

“Therapy takes time. What you’re after is an inpatient session. You meet with a healer, get a plan for your treatment, then check into St. Mungo’s. You don’t leave until you’re ready to be released. It could take a week, it could take two months to a year. People are too wary or it’s simply not feasible to do this method. There’ve been cases where patients have had to go through the Ministry to force St. Mungo’s to release them,” he explained.

“What sort of treatments do they do?” she asked, eyes wide at the prospect of St. Mungo’s being able to keep people against their will.

“Depends. Sometimes they’ll use a Legilimens if they think a patient is lying about their trauma. Sometimes they’ll use hypnotism. Sometimes they’ll dose them with potions and do exposure therapy in controlled settings with illusions. Sometimes it’s a matter of being sedated and letting the mind work itself out,” he said with a shrug.

“That doesn’t sound  _ too _ bad. Don’t they have people you can just sit and talk through things with? Be equipped with the tools for coping?” she asked, confused.

“Some places on the continent do I think, but not Mungo’s. Daphne says the Paris hospital has a division of people like that,” he said. “Would you like me to find out more for you?”

She perked up at the idea. Hermione knew she needed help and while St. Mungo’s treatments may work, she struggled with the idea of not being equipped to deal with the problems herself after she was released.

“I would appreciate it very much if you did. I don’t want to be in a situation where I rely so heavily on an institution that can hold you until the government forces them to release you,” she said with a shudder. It was a nightmare of an idea.

“Mother knows one of the healers there. I’ll have her owl them this evening,” he promised.

The prospect made her feel physically lighter, as if she’d just taken off a heavy backpack. She’d never heard of St. Mungo’s referring anyone out to another hospital and figured that they just didn’t because they were secretive like the magical schools of Europe were.

“Thank you,” she whispered, and he nodded solemnly in reply.

“I think it may be beneficial to do the same. I don’t quite trust anyone not to hold on to me. Especially not with the notoriety of my surname and the lingering hatred attached to it. Azkaban should have been safe. Should have been secure…” he drifted off, looking outside at the foot traffic with tight eyes.

“I wouldn’t either, if I were you. France would be better for both of us,” she said, trailing off as she gathered her courage. She licked her lips and tensed. “We should go together. Nobody would really know we’re gone. I’m a shut-in, and you rarely leave your estate. Only Harry would really know that I was gone and whomever you ended up letting know.”

She watched as the idea bloomed and rolled around inside his head. It was obvious that he saw the benefits of it. Nobody knowing meant nobody taking advantage of their absence.

“Pansy is abroad with Blaise for the next few months. That only leaves Theo and Mother, neither of which will tell. Theo’s still on house arrest anyway,” he muttered the last bit with a scowl.

She could see why. Theo Nott hadn’t done anything during the war except stay out of it. He may have believed in the cause initially but not enough to get himself branded by a madman. Especially after his father had forced him to accompany him for an evening of “fun,” or so she had heard.

“I currently have no obligations aside from the next gala this weekend,” she muttered bitterly.

Another party full of unfamiliar people meant another internal meltdown.  _ Joy. _

“Yes, they’re taking a break to get ready for hosting the upcoming World Cup so they had to do back to back weekends with their little parties. Ministry will be too busy and everyone else will be enamored with it,” he said, the ghost of a sneer on his lips.

Something twisted in her chest. She knew how much he loved Quidditch, and if he felt anything similar to how she did, then an event like that would be absolutely out of the question even in a private box. Just the thought of the hoards of people that would be there made her queasy.

“So, week after the gala?” she prompted after he descended into thoughtful silence.

He blinked before refocusing on her. He pinned her with those silver eyes, and it was with a mental jolt that she realized how to really read him. It was something she’d never really been able to do well throughout their time at Hogwarts, having looked more into his posturing for clues rather than resorting to the intimacy of eye contact. Not that she was suddenly able to now, but it was a start.

“Yes, if they have spots available for both of us. I’ll inquire about it when I owl them. If so, I’ll let you know when we leave and what you need to bring,” he said softly.

Her eyes periodically scanned the café as they had been sitting there, much like he had. She supposed he took Barty Crouch Jr’s imitation squawks of ‘constant vigilance’ to heart after he really got thrown in the war zone, if not after the ferret incident itself.

Speaking of constant vigilance, she wanted so badly to be wary of him, to hold him at arm’s length, but any attempt to summon it fizzled out in her chest. It was as if it had never existed to begin with, like they hadn’t been enemies for years. All of the rumination she’d done in the past year or so likely had something to do with it.

She let her eyes travel across his face while he was distracted with scanning the room and noted that he wasn’t a bigoted, mean-spirited child anymore. He was now a man. A man damaged by something so far out of his control and by doing things just to survive as well as to ensure his parents’ survival. He had been in a hard place that she didn’t envy at all. They weren’t at all the same people they used to be, and it was obvious. Maybe that’s also why, she mused.

Silver eyes returned to hers, hardening with resolve again.

“Did your parents make it through hiding?” he asked blandly.

The blood drained from her face as she stared at him, leaving her lightheaded. Her fingers twitched, as if she were about to yank them from his gentle grip, but he increased the pressure of his thumb by a fraction as it continued its circling around her knuckles. She forced herself to breathe again.

“How do you know about that?” she whispered, half-afraid to know.

“Because they sent me as part of the raid party. They thought if they took your parents they could bring you out of hiding,” he said.

A tremor rocked through her for a moment before she could stop it, her fingers spasming. He didn’t stop his movements.

“I would have,” she murmured, “That’s why I took their memories of me and sent them to Australia. I knew if they’d been taken they wouldn’t survive it, even if I  _ had _ come out and bargained myself.”

Her stomach clenched momentarily when he nodded. It had been one thing to speculate, but to have that fear confirmed caused her to squirm in her seat. They’re alive, they’re fine, and even if they never forgive you, that’s all that matters, she reminded herself firmly. 

A part of her speculated that if he wasn’t touching her she’d be having a meltdown.

“I’m sorry,” he said, squeezing her fingers.

Hermione didn’t need to ask why. Memory charms of that caliber were near impossible to reverse. She’d consulted a magical hospital in Australia when she went to retrieve them. They were successful after seven months of intense treatment. However, after they had made it back to London things were extremely strained between them. They couldn’t forgive her for using magic on them without their consent and didn’t trust her anymore. Not to mention the fallout from upending their lives and their dental practice. They’d had to rebuild everything.

She nodded at Draco in thanks as she controlled her breathing, rolling her eyes up to the ceiling in order to stave off the tears that always came with thinking about her parents. By the time she had them back under control, he was scanning the restaurant again.

He stiffened in his seat, freezing as someone approached them, but did not drop her hand. She noticed that his walls had returned before looking up to see Adrian Pucey standing across the table from her. He focused on Malfoy, but seemed indifferent to her presence.

“Finally decide to stop hiding?” he asked placidly.

Malfoy shrugged. “What reasons would I have for leaving home? Not like I have fans awaiting me or anything,” he said benignly.

“Maybe not but you  _ do _ have friends who  _ miss you _ ,” Adrian said.

“It’s been a hard time. You can’t tell me you haven’t been wary of nearly everyone after what happened,” Malfoy said, eyes narrowing a fraction.

Adrian shrugged. “For a while, but then I decided that I didn’t survive a war just to waste the rest of my life in solitude and hiding. Sort of defeats the point of surviving it to begin with.”

Malfoy’s eyes slid to her for a moment before returning to Pucey.

“True, but some of us have larger targets on our backs. I’ll be back to annoying the lot of you sooner or later, don’t fret.” He said the last part mockingly.

Pucey rolled his eyes. “See to it that you do.” 

He nodded at Malfoy, then surprised Hermione by repeating the action towards her before he left.

“He’s awfully blunt for a Slytherin,” she muttered.

Malfoy’s lips quirked up as he returned to studying her. “You’ve met Pansy right? She’s about as subtle as a brick to the face.”

“And just as abrasive,” she added.

He chuckled, to her surprise, and she witnessed part of his walls slip back down now that the other man was gone. “Subtlety isn’t a requirement for being in Slytherin. Some people have it, some don’t, and some wield it objectively.”

She nodded, figuring that perhaps she was just used to the Gryffindors in her life. Most of whom didn’t seem to comprehend what subtle actually meant or saw no real use in it. She’d learned to use it sparingly, seeing as it often went straight over both Ron's and Harry’s heads the vast majority of the time.

“So you really don’t go out much?” she asked.

He studied her for a few minutes in contemplation.

“Not yet. Mother works herself into a fit if I’m gone for long. She trusts very few people anymore, especially after Father’s murder,” he said quietly. “I’m trying to work through my old contacts with the help of Blaise and Pansy to make sure I’m not exposing myself unwittingly. Maybe then she’ll settle back down some.”

He must miss it, going and doing in his free time with whomever, whenever, wherever he wished.

“I hear you don’t go out much either,” he said, arching a brow at her.

She shrugged. It was true, and since he told her about his, she may as well do the same if they were going to do this ‘getting to know each other’ thing. Whatever it was that settled her was the only thing she’d found that did so, and she was loathe to give it up. 

“The Burrow is too busy. Too many people coming and going constantly. There were a few close calls where I nearly cursed people when they’d come up behind me and I didn’t hear them. Or came around a corner and some new arrival was right there. It was starting to become unsafe,” she trailed off.

“The ministry sent out information to all households on how to approach and handle war veterans in order to avoid as many accidents as possible. If you cursed them after they did something it warned them against, that’s on them,” he shrugged, rolling his eyes.

That sounded far more like the Draco Malfoy she was used to. She didn’t expect him to continue on, however.

“So, what, they asked you to leave? To refrain from visiting?” he asked, eyes tightening at the corners.

He almost seemed angry at the idea and she had no idea what to make of that at all.

“No! They would never. I could tell, though, that it was making people uneasy with how unstable I was behaving—”

“Good Merlin, don’t be ridiculous. You’re not unstable. You’re traumatized, which is different. Your equally ridiculous friends should have stayed with you in a place where you could watch the comings and goings. Then you would’ve had a much better handle on the situation,” he groused like it was obvious.

The thought had occurred to her too, but they had wanted to go off to their rooms or the new sitting room Molly had transformed Bill’s old room into. Hermione hadn’t been able to deny the clawing in her brain to know who was there whenever she heard a new voice.

She sighed quietly. “They don’t understand. They think I should just ignore the compulsion to know who’s there.”

He clenched his jaw, saying, “You can’t just ignore a compulsion like that. It’s not something you can just shut off and on at will.” 

She wondered if it was all the stupidity that made him angry or it was specifically things her friends did. Or maybe it was something else entirely. Maybe he was thinking of whatever it was that drove him. In the end, she just shrugged again.

“I prefer my house or Grimmauld, honestly. Hardly anyone comes to either place, and I feel more in control there anyway. The wards on both houses notify me when someone arrives, and there’s only one way in,” she said.

There was actually more but nobody else knew that. That information was for her and Harry only. There were many surveillance features she’d added that nobody else knew about. She didn’t like being secretive with all the things she did to quiet her mind, but she wasn’t going to be lectured about it either. What she was doing was harmless, and nobody else would get it.

The way Draco was looking at her made her hackles rise for the first time.

“What?” she snapped.

“How often do they come visit you?” he asked, one pale brow raised.

She didn’t know how he knew, but it made her fingers itch for her wand for the first time today. She tamped down on it hard.

“At least once a week,” she mumbled.

He scoffed and her cheeks flushed. “They’re Aurors. They’re busy!”

“And the others?” he drawled.

She looked away. Sometimes George would come by, but he was so busy with the shop that he could scarcely step away, even with Fleur’s help. He was the only one left developing new products except for the odd idea here and there from Lee or different family members. His plate was twice as full than he’d ever anticipated it being. His other brothers pitched in where they could, especially Ron. Hermione sometimes wondered if he did it to stop himself from thinking about any of it. She wondered when the ticking time bomb would finally detonate and what the aftermath would be.

He didn’t need to say anything else on the subject because her silence said it all, so she just huffed, “I need not explain myself to you, Malfoy!”

With that, she yanked her hand out of his grip and folded her arms under her breasts as her eyes wandered the restaurant.

Out of her periphery she saw him lean back in his seat and cross his legs at the knee, lacing his fingers together to rest on his thigh—the picture of ease.

He waited patiently until she finally looked back at him. The thought crossed her mind that if they were going to be friends or acquaintances or whatever one day, she hoped they didn’t get locked into a battle of wills often. He had seemingly unending patience when he put his mind to it, and her stubbornness was legendary.

Their eyes met, and he held her pinned in place with his gaze.

“You shouldn’t be alone so often,” he said softly. “It does funny things to the mind.”

“It’s not their fault I’m ruined,” she muttered.

“You’re not ruined. You’ll move on from this and whatever other little quirks you’ve developed. That doesn’t excuse them from not being there for you. You were there for them for over seven years, saving their arses left, right, and center,” he said, leaning towards her.

There was nothing she could say against that. She would be a liar if she said she hadn’t thought it herself when she would look up and discover that she hadn’t spoken a word aloud in three days.

“Why do you care?” she mumbled.

He lay his hand, knuckles side down, back on the table again, fingers open.

She stared at them for a long moment before tentatively placing her hand in his like it had been before. His thumb took up its previous circuit in his gentle grip.

“I just do. Leave it at that,” he requested.

And so she would, for now. They both knew it was just a matter of time before she started trying to unravel the mystery he presented.

She noted that he was gruff when he was defensive, but at least he’d cut back his sneering at her almost entirely. For that she was thankful because it unfailingly transported her back to uglier days between them.

They sat there for another half hour, talking about inconsequential things before Malfoy revealed he’d already paid the tab when she asked about the check.

That confused her even more, but he didn’t give her time to dwell on it. Instead, he offered to escort her to an Apparition point. She accepted and when she gathered her things, he guided her out the back way with that warm, firm hand on her lower back to a mostly empty alleyway. She was grateful for being able to avoid the traffic.

He stopped at the lamp post on the corner as she continued on. She stopped short and turned, waiting until he’d finished lighting up a fresh cigarette. He tucked the case away in an inner coat pocket as it dangled from his lips. 

“Thank you for lunch and for offering to look into the Paris hospital,” she said.

The wave of his left hand caused the sun to glint off his ring.

He blew out an elegant stream of smoke, saying, “Anytime, Granger. I’ll owl you.”

She nodded and turned into the void with determination.

She spent the rest of the afternoon replaying their lunch together in her mind. She’d yet to figure out why she felt so bloody comfortable around the former Slytherin when she should be anything but. She didn’t have answers, and she’d never cared for that. The only thing she knew to do was to continue meeting up with him until she’d figured it out. 

More than anything, she wanted to know why he’d caught and calmed her down that first time. She also wanted to figure out why she felt so safe around him. She just knew that it would drive her mad if she didn’t figure out why her internal compass stopped spinning wildly and only pointed due North when she was near him.

She’d discovered when they’d had their little spat that he was the same as he had always been. That he was able to get under her skin, pull it back, and expose for confirmation what his sharp eyes and mind had already deduced. He was unlike anyone else she was friends with, and she dug around in her memories for what he was like at Hogwarts, aside from being a hateful prat. He’d spent a great deal of time in the library and outside of it—like her—had spent most of his time with his friends or on the Quidditch pitch.

The uneasy feeling quietly crept back in the longer she was away from him, settling behind her breastbone. Eventually she decided that the best way to handle the situation was to just document it. Then she would eventually have a wealth of data to use in her ponderings. She summoned a blank hardback notebook and documented both occasions, scribbling down all the details she could remember.

When it was nearing midnight, she decided that it was finally time to go to bed and stop thinking about him, how he affected her, and what their potential trip to France would be like.

Despite her determination, he had begun to feature in her dreams, and she couldn’t stop those, even if she had happened to want to.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to NuclearNik and Monica03 for Alpha and Betaing this chapter for me as well as MarshmallowMcgonagall for being my Omega (pre-reader)! Without them this production would not come together at all.
> 
> Also, thank you for all the lovely comments! I have a lot going on right now, but I will eventually get back to all of you!
> 
> Disclaimer: I don't own the sandbox, I only play in it.

Hermione stood in front of her fireplace, adjusting the long sleeves of her blouse in the mirror before casting cooling charms. She’d waffled on what to wear throughout the morning, changing several times before settling on jeans and a sage linen top Ginny had recently talked her into getting. It was only Malfoy after all. Satisfied, she stepped in the Floo and came out in the Leaky Cauldron. 

She’d been unprepared for the noise of a pub full of people and it stopped her in her tracks before her brain kickstarted back online. She glanced around before hustling outside, tapping the three bricks, and heading through the archway. It had been an unexpected surprise for him to have owled her the day before, asking her to lunch again so soon after the last one. She’d found herself looking forward to it up until now when she was out in public again. She was being followed by a paparazzo that had spotted her in the Leaky, and she was regretting the decision to come out.

She must have looked like she had a tic from the way she glanced over her shoulder so often, but she didn’t care. Her mind being settled enough to not draw her wand was more important than what that stupid photographer following her down the street was thinking. She kept glancing up at the sign to the restaurant, hurrying her steps the closer she got to her destination.

Her fingers were itching to have her wand in her hand but she knew how bad that would look., knew that Skeeter’s photographer would snap a thousand photos the instant she drew it and make her look like a menace to society. Something she knew Skeeter would capitalize on. 

The damn woman had already been publishing sordid articles, though that was but anything unusual. Rita loved to comment on how rarely Hermione was seen in public these days. She sometimes waxed poetic over the “dissolution of the Golden Trio”. This was mainly fueled by the very short trial run she and Ron gave at having a relationship before they realized they were better suited to being best friends. The bitch had run several speculations over whether ‘The Golden Trio’ had split because of this, who Harry had sided with, and how devastated Hermione must have been to have waited all those years just for everything to end  _ so _ tragically.

She escaped both the photographer and the glaring sunshine as she finally made it through the door. Pausing for a moment, she blinked as her eyes adapted to the dimmer atmosphere before searching for Malfoy’s platinum hair. She was certain she’d be able to see it even in the dimmest of conditions. It didn’t take her long; he was back in the corner, waiting on her like he’d been last time.

She carefully picked her way through the tables. Her skin prickled as his eyes landed on her, appraising her as she approached. By the time she reached him he’d already risen and pulled out her chair. His manners shouldn’t have surprised her, but seeing as she’d lived around Harry and Ron for most of her life, it caught her off guard. She paused for an instant before sitting down, letting him tuck her chair in with muttered thanks. Knowing that he would do something polite for her still took her off guard.

He passed her a menu that she perused quickly, settling on curry. As soon as she set it down, Malfoy was waving over the waiter. He zoomed away with their orders, and she was about to speak to him properly when she heard the door open again, her eyes darting over to it. Her mouth itched to turn into a sneer as the photographer sat down in a clear line of sight. She felt the heat of his Malfoy’s again as it drifted across her then followed where she was glaring.

“Has he been bothering you?” Draco asked.

“Only every time I go to Diagon, or Hogsmeade, or any other Wizarding quarter,” she grumbled.

“Rita must still be sore over your blackmail. Trapping her in a jar was bound to piss her off. Although that was rather Slytherin of you,” he said.

Hermione’s head jerked around towards him, eyes glittering. “How do you know about that?”

“Oh please, Granger. She and Mother have been long-time chums. I just happened to hear about it as I was passing by the solarium when they were having tea,” he said as he leaned back and crossed his legs.

“Yes, I’m sure you weren’t eavesdropping or spying or anything,” she said, rolling her eyes.

“Malfoys don’t do anything of the sort. We merely observe when it behooves us to,” he said with a sniff.

She snorted and folded her arms protectively across her chest. Her eyes cut back over to observe her stalker.

“If you’ll watch closely, you’ll notice what looks like a jeweled pin on his hatband,” he whispered. “Bozo’s always said he considers it to be his lucky charm. He rarely goes anywhere without it or Rita, alternating them out whenever she’s not transformed.”

Her eyes drifted the hat and sure enough, there was what seemed to be a shiny pin seemingly stuck in place on his dark hat.

“Are they together?” she asked as she observed them from underneath her eyelashes.

“Yes. They were mediocre on their own but once they got together and became a duo, they really rose in notoriety. Scandalous articles aren’t good without visuals, and a photoshoot isn’t worth much of anything without something to turn pliable minds towards the tawdry. It’s not a typical relationship, but it seems to work well enough for them,” he shrugged.

Her eyes darted over to him. That could be construed in a dozen different ways.

“What do you mean, ‘not the typical relationship’?”

He cocked a brow at her, “Surely you’ve noticed the way they each behave. Rita’s controlling, directive, has a very take charge, type-A personality. Bozo’s always been the opposite. He allows her to boss him around, follows her anywhere, covers for her absence when she chooses to spend time as a beetle to dig up the things she’s after…”

Hermione’s eyebrows rose. She wasn’t sure she’d have put the behaviors together if Malfoy hadn’t stuck the thought in her head, and even then, she was half sure he was playing with her. If she’d noticed their behaviors before, it was in passing. She was usually too angry with the witch to think about anything else unrelated to shutting her up. Rita had finally registered as an animagus, removing that convenient pressure point.

“Whatever pleases them, I suppose. I just wish they’d bugger off and leave me alone,” she grumbled.

She noticed he hadn’t taken any pictures since coming inside, likely taking advantage of a quick lunch while he waited for Hermione to leave.

It was quiet for a beat too long before she looked over at her lunch companion. She’d never expected to find him staring darkly at Bozo with his fingers drumming idly at his left wrist. It was all she could do not to gawk. Sure, he hadn’t killed Dumbledore, and he hadn’t identified them when they’d been held prisoner, nor had he attacked them at the Battle of Hogwarts when he easily could’ve. But that didn’t mean he wasn’t a talented, capable, and highly intelligent wizard. He’d repaired a set of vanishing cabinets on his own and let the Death Eaters into Hogwarts, after all; A feat that should have been impossible.

The sound of the door opening had her looking back to the now empty table, barely catching sight of the slimy photographer through the window as he scurried away. Her eyes darted back over to find Malfoy now leaning back in his seat again, hands clasped in his lap, and a satisfied quirk at the corner of his mouth.

“You didn’t have to do that, but thank you.” She released a breath, relaxing into her seat.

“It was nothing, Granger.” He waved it off. “Everyone deserves some peace. It’s not like she doesn’t have dozens of other leads to be tracking down.”

“Still, I appreciate it. She’s been a thorn lately.”

She glanced at him again, watching as his eyes tracked across the windows in thought, and she wondered what was on his mind. As if he knew he was being watched, his eyes darted to hers, capturing her gaze and pinning her in place. She froze as he studied her for a long moment.

He broke the staring match as their waiter set their food and drinks down. Time was strange with him, she realized. It seemed as if it’d been forever since she’d come through the door but really it’d been less than ten minutes.

She took a drink of her butterbeer as he mixed his dressing into the side salad he’d ordered, noting the green apple chunks in it and musing that he probably still loved the fruit as much as he did while he was at Hogwarts. Hermione had seen him munching on them on multiple occasions between classes as he strutted about with his mates. She imagined a tall pile of them in some ostentatious crystal bowl at his home, somewhere convenient for him to swipe one at his leisure as he went about his business—no doubt scheming and causing random bouts of chaos hither and yon.

Banishing the ridiculous train of thought, she picked up her fork, mixing the rice and the saucy chicken together and herding it onto her fork with some of the warm naan. They ate in silence until Draco wiped his mouth and sat his napkin on the table.

“So, the next gala is at the Pucey’s. Their home is very functional for the whole indoor-outdoor entertaining thing. Tons of overly large doors. It makes the space amenable for crowds of people to roam back and forth fluidly. The backyard is a series of terraced entertaining spaces that descends a sloping hill to a lake. Boat rides will be likely available, so if you have the urge for some space that’s always an option. However, there’s a quiet spot that only a few people are aware of, as is usual of these homes, and that’s what I recommend. It’s a large recessed balcony that gives vantage points over the ballroom and the backyard,” he explained.

“How do I get up there?” she asked, sensing that there was something more to his explanation.

“I could show you, of course, since it’s where I always retreat to after I’ve shown my face at whatever event is going on. Or we could go together and I could show you around, keep you out of the thick of things. Unlike last time,” he said, watching for her reaction.

“You were watching me?” her eyes widened.

“It’s not like you  _ weren’t _ watching me, Granger.” He picked his fork back up and speared another bite of steak and salad.

She busied her mouth with consuming her lunch as she thought about it, using it as an excuse to keep from giving an answer.

“Am I so off-putting?” he asked, breaking into her musings.

“Not really, honestly,” she said.

“Then what’s the malfunction?”

“For one, I don’t look forward to discovering the rumor mill’s imaginative churnings if we were to appear together, and for two I can almost envision the scene that  _ will _ take place when Harry and Ron discover we’re there together,” she admitted. 

The thought of dealing with them making a spectacle in public made her stomach twist.

While Harry had grown up quite a bit, Ron largely had not, and she knew he wouldn’t hesitate to cause a scene with his greatest rival.

“I can guide the rumor mill, Granger. What could look better for the status of post-war society than if the two of us attended a function together? If the Lady of the Light and the Prince of Darkness can put their pasts behind them enough to amiably show up together, then I can think of no better publicity for both your friends and the Ministry,” he said smoothly, “As for Potter and Weasley, I wouldn’t worry too much about them. Did you know your dear Weasel has been seeing Pansy for the last few months?”

Hermione gaped at him. She’d had no earthly idea. None. He hadn’t mentioned it when she’d seen him three days ago or two days before that or the previous week or ever. At all.

“No, I didn’t,” she said, her voice hitching.

She wondered what else she didn’t know. She knew her two best friends regarded her as more fragile nowadays but she hadn’t anticipated to what extent.

“I only know because I barged in on them having tea together at her house. She’d forgotten I was supposed to stop by and when her mother directed me out back, there they were. Pansy swore me to secrecy, of course, and I wouldn’t be telling you if I thought you couldn’t keep it under wraps,” he trailed off.

She would bet everything in her Gringotts account that he was hoping she’d go bash the man over the head for keeping such secrets from her. She had to admit it was quite tempting to do that exact thing, and she wondered if Harry knew.

“Anyway, Pansy said she’s attending the event with him this time so if anyone can keep him in line, it’s her. I wouldn’t worry about Potter much either. He’s too terrified of the combination of yours and his hellcat’s wrath to embarrass anybody, not to mention the standard of behavior required for a Ministry employee to uphold while acting in such a capacity at one of their functions. Potter wouldn’t risk any of that just to have a meltdown in public and curse me. Later perhaps, when we’re out of sight and out of mind, should we cross paths on some dark trail...” he meandered off.

She ate the last bits of her lunch, going so far as to run the naan around the inside of the bowl to get the last vestiges of the delicious sauce.

When she finally looked back at him, his plate was cleaned and he was sitting at ease, legs crossed at the knee and his hands folded in his lap, watching her.

“Alright, fine, we can go together, but if I find out you are lying to me about Pansy and Ron or manipulating me for your own gain not only will it be the last time but I will also give you a full body rash that won’t disappear for a year and nothing can stop the itching,” she said, leaning in towards him.

“Would you like me to pick you up or would you rather meet somewhere and Apparate in together?” he asked as if he’d just won a prize.

“I mean it, Malfoy. Don’t think I won’t,” she growled.

“I believe you one hundred and ten percent, now calm down. Use that archangel-esque smiting power for something that needs it, oh Lady of the Light. Surely a foul, evil, loathsome little cockroach doesn’t require that much force does he?” he said.

She was taken aback and could only stare at him momentarily before finding her tongue again. “You’re not evil, Draco, you never were. A bully, yes. A racist prat, yes. Evil? No. With the way you’ve been, I’m not sure you’ve been much of any of those things for quite some time now, if I had my guess.”

The summer before Sixth Year was her precise guess.

“Perhaps,” he said, giving nothing away as he picked nonexistent lint off of his trousers and didn’t meet her eyes.

Another awkward silence drifted between them before she said, “We can meet at Hyde Park. Is that amenable for you?”

“Quite. I’ve been there a few times,” he said.

“What time do you want to meet?” she asked, feeling better now that he was acting as if nothing of consequence had been said between them.

“We should get there early. It’ll allow us to suffer a very short receiving line, and then I can give you a tour of the place when it’s mostly empty, show you the ins and outs and where to stay away from so you don’t trap yourself should we split up at any time. The party officially starts at six, in order to have their outdoor festivities I’ve heard they’re planning, so we should arrive five minutes early. Fifteen later and the floodgates will have started opening. The Puceys know how to entertain, so it’s not like there will be a lack of draw,” he said.

“Why is it you’re wanting to help me?” she asked, unable to hold back the question any longer.

The question had been clawing around in the back of her mind ever since the conversation started. She could understand their first lunch somewhat, him wanting to thank her for what she’d done for him, but she couldn’t help but think this was something else entirely.

“Can you not fathom the idea that I don’t enjoy you suffering? That I haven’t for a long time? Did it ever cross your mind that I’m not so reprehensible I wouldn’t help you when I know exactly what it is you’re suffering?” he asked, voice dark and low again, sending shivers down her spine.

“To be honest, it never crossed my mind. All I know is what I’ve known of you so far in our existence, and you can’t fault me for being wary when until recently you’ve acted like I don’t even deserve to breathe the same air in the same spaces as you. I can’t say I actually know you beyond what you’ve shown me,” she said low but firm.

He took a deep breath in, held it and let it out slowly as a sigh.

“Then may I propose we do actually get to know one another then? I don’t relish being viewed as a monster by the person who kept me out of prison when she could have just as easily not said the first word after everything I did,” he proposed.

Gray eyes met brown again and held her just the same as before.

She took a breath, weighing the odds against each other to find she didn’t really have much to lose and really, if she couldn’t give him a chance, what kind of person was she in the grand scheme of what she’d fought for? With that thought she let it out and threw the dice in a gamble. 

“Okay, if you want to then I’ll go along with it. Merlin knows why though. Also, you’re not a monster. We went over that earlier.”

“Because, Granger, we live in a relatively small world. We can’t avoid each other for the rest of our lives and besides, friendship between us could be mutually beneficial later on if you decide to join the world again and go work at the Ministry like you’ve always wanted,” he paused to study her for a moment while that sunk in before continuing. “Besides, whatever technicality exists that makes me not a monster doesn’t mean you don’t perceive me as one.”

She was struck silent at that point because he wasn’t wrong about the difference in reality and perceptions. She didn’t think he was nor perceived him to be one; however, she knew that for many people that wasn’t true. Many people like Ron and Katie Bell perceived him to be a monster, and she doubted that there was much changing their minds. She could have also said the same thing about Pansy Parkinson and look how that was playing out right under her own nose.

“I don’t perceive you as a monster,” she said quietly, “but it’s obvious that I’m going to have to prove that to you.”

Something shifted behind his eyes. She wished she knew him well enough to be able to understand what that meant.

“Just as much as I’m going to have to prove myself,” he said.

She let him have that one. It was obvious they were going to have things to prove to one another before they could move on.

“So, what goes on at a party at the Puceys?” she asked, changing course.

“It’s not as grand as a Malfoy affair, naturally, but typically there’s dancing, food, boat rides on the lake, tours of their greenhouses.” 

Her eyebrows drew together. Why would anyone offer greenhouse tours at a party?

“I guess it’s not so well known that they grow some of the rarest plants in the world, including many herbs that are being experimented with for new and improved potions.”

“That makes sense now as to why Adrian had always been Professor Sprout’s pride and joy of his year. I’d heard he had an amazing green thumb,” she mused.

“Indeed. He kept several plants both in the common room as well as his dorm room. It wasn’t uncommon for him to have fresh potions ingredients in class if Severus alerted him ahead of time,” he commented. “Anyway, they also offer many lawn games. Quoits, bowls, and croquet are all things I imagine you’re familiar with but there are also several wizarding games as well. They often have an archery shoot-off event near the lake. Entry fees go to the grand prize which is donated to the winner’s chosen cause, which will be for whatever the Ministry is raising funds for tomorrow night. Sometimes they do fireworks but more often they hire people to do a light show of sorts over the water at the end of the night. There are many smaller things but if you’re not entertained at one of their events, it’s not because they didn’t make it available.”

It sounded fun, like the sort of fun Hermione desperately missed having. Oh, to be normal again. She paused at the thought. Okay, maybe not so much normal, but closer to the self she was before the Horcrux hunt. The girl who thought nothing of being in the Great Hall or walking down a crowded street in Diagon Alley. That Hermione would love a party like this. Her fingers clenched the bottom of her blouse as want raced through her system. With a start she realized she’d wandered off into her own head and came back to the conversation.

“It sounds like a good time. Are their parties always so activity based?” she asked.

“Yes. They’re often themed. Sometimes they combine forces with my mother and put on truly spectacular events. You’ll have to come to the next one. I think they’re planning a masquerade this year. It’ll be held at the Manor since our grounds are more amenable to the size of the event,” he said, his eyes drifting across her face as he waited for her reaction.

“If I’ve gotten ahold of myself enough by that point then I’ll think about it,” she hedged. She’d wait to give a more concrete answer. This whole ‘friends’ thing may crash and burn well before that point and the last thing she should be doing is setting herself up for disappointment.

It was just a slight raise of his eyebrows, but the tiny gesture made him look hopeful.

“You’d enjoy it. I managed to sneak a look at the guest list last week while Mother was working on it with Adrian’s Mum. You _ are  _ still friends with Viktor Krum, aren’t you?” he asked with a hitched brow.

“Yes. It’s been a while since we’ve written. He’s currently studying for a Mastery and sometimes he goes underground when he’s doing the practical aspects of it,” she shrugged. It’s not like she was particularly chatty when she was studying for NEWTs herself.

“Well, my mother’s planning on inviting him and several other notable Quidditch players, scholars, politicians, and researchers from far and wide. A veritable smorgasbord of interesting people from across the globe,” he said.

He clearly knew what to dangle in front of her to make it tough to say no if that time came.

“It’d be nice to see Viktor again. I haven’t seen him since last year,” she said offhandedly.

He paused a beat, as if to allow her to finish processing her thoughts on the party.

“Oh, I got word back from France this morning. They have two slots open. If you’re interested, I need to know today so I can have them make us appointments for inpatient treatment.”

She bit her lip.

“Do you not… want to go anymore?” He asked, brows furrowed.

“No! I mean, yes! Yes, I want to go! I’ve just had so much on my mind that I forgot for a few days,” she said hurriedly. There was no way she was letting this opportunity to make her even somewhat quasi-normal again pass her by.

“You  _ forgot _ ? You never forget things; your brain is essentially a Rolodex of information. Or a card catalogue. Perhaps a filing cabinet,” he muttered the last bit.

“Well I did,  _ thank you _ ! Once I made up my mind to go, I just sort of put it on the back burner,” she said, cutting her eyes to the side.

“Good thing it wasn’t on a real burner, else it’d be a blackened crisp. You don’t get that distracted when you do actual cooking or potions making, do you?” he asked, head tilted.

“No! Not that it’s any of your concern what I do at home,” she said, back straightening and eyes narrowing.

“Calm down, I was just checking to see if we had any memory issues to take care of while we were there,” he said airily, then froze. His eyes drifted over to her hesitantly.

Her eyes were glued to her lap but he could tell from the wobble of her curls she was trying to control her breathing. If he listened, he could hear the stuttered breaths as she tried to inhale smoothly. His hand darted over and grabbed onto hers before she could get up to flee. She instantly felt soothed enough to not yank her hand from his grasp and retreat to the loo as she’d planned.

“Granger,” he said quietly, watching her. He’d heard through different channels that her parents were back to rights now but clearly it was still a sticky topic, just as he’d worried it may have been right after he’d said it.

“It’s just hard,” she mumbled, fingers squeezing his.

“I heard they were fine, that things had been able to be reversed,” he hedged.

“And so they are,” she managed out between stilted breaths.

But  _ she _ obviously wasn’t, which could only mean one thing.

A single, traitorous tear escaped her lashes to trickle down her cheek at a sloth’s pace.

“Forgive me for my insensitivities,” he requested as his fingers twitched in hers.

She tried not to speculate on if he were contemplating breaking free of the hold due to discomfort at the sight of her pain or the wild notion that he might wipe the liquid away himself.

Hermione wrangled her grief back in its steel trunk at last, blinking the rest of the tears away as she swiped at the evidence of her grief. She chanced a glance at him to find him looking distressed- a new thing between them.

“How were you supposed to know?” she asked after draining the rest of her glass. “It’s not like you did it on purpose.”

“For once,” he groused, echoing her thoughts.

“Just forget about it, Malfoy. You’re hardly the first person to step on that particular landmine and doubtfully the last,” she said, taking a moment to scan the restaurant again.

“Still, Granger, I regret it and I’m sorry,” he said.

She sighed silently and watched him for a moment.

“I forgive you, alright? Let it go.  _ Please _ ,” she implored.

Despite the fact that letting it go was the last thing he wanted to do, he acquiesced and returned to the conversation they were having pre-landmine detonation. He let her fingers go and laced his hands back together in front of him. The soothing flow ceased, leaving her skin tingling with its residue.

“So, Hyde Park is rather large. Is there any specific landmark you’d like to meet at?” he asked.

She tilted her head. “How about The Huntress Fountain in the Rose Garden?”

“That’s fine. Let’s meet there, say at a quarter ‘til six?” he proposed.

She nodded her agreement.

“There will likely be lots of walking at this party before the need to escape consumes us, so be sure to wear comfortable shoes or else cast some strong cushioning charms. Their estate is laid out to be showed off to guests,” he warned.

“Thanks for the warning. I’ll renew the charm on my kitten heels,” she said.

“Dessert?”

There was fresh lemon curd at home in the fridge that was begging to be turned into a mousse to go with the fresh berries she’d picked that morning from the bushes lining her yard. “Not this time. Thank you, though.”

It occurred to her she was inferring there would be a next time if she was specifically declining for this one and had to resist the urge to smack herself. She didn’t want to be assumptious on how they would continue to get to know one another.

“Are you going anywhere else after we’re done here?” he asked suddenly, calculating curiosity alight in his eyes again.

“Just back home, why?” 

He rose and extended a hand to her. What on earth was this about? She settled her palm into his and let him lead her out through another discreet back exit into the quiet empty alleyway that separated Diagon from Muggle London.

“I think we’re forgetting a crucial step,” she muttered.

“What?”

“Usually when you eat at an establishment, they expect you to pay them for it,” she said dryly.

“Already did.” He waved it off.

“When?” she shrilled. 

He rolled his eyes. “The Malfoys have an account at every single business in Diagon. All I do is sign a slip when I get there, and then I don’t have to worry about it.”

“I can pay for my own lunch, Malfoy,” she said, eyebrows drawing down over narrowed eyes.

“Not when I invite you to lunch, you won’t. You’re my guest, and I  _ refuse _ to be a poor host. Besides, Granger, it’s just lunch, not a set of jewels. Not that your wrist wouldn’t look lovely with a string of red beryl, or better yet red diamonds,” he teased, letting go of her hand to rest his on the small of her back.

“Not emeralds?”.

“I didn’t figure you cared for green much. Besides, red has always suited you well.” He shrugged, not meeting her eyes.

“Thank you,” she said, taken aback at the unexpected compliment.

They walked the rest of the way in silence until he gently grasped her arm, bringing them to a stop at the corner lamp post near the Apparition point.

Her eyebrows rose slightly at the nervous look on his face.

“I noticed that you never wear anything but long sleeves anymore,” he said, watching her right hand move to rest on the forearm where she’d been carved up.

“Too many questions,” she said, curling her shoulders in.

“Have you tried charming it?”

“Of course I have. The residual Dark Magic from the blade counteracts it,” she said, scowling. Dozens upon dozens of charms had been attempted and had subsequently failed.

“Would you let me try something?” he hedged, eyes on her hands in case she tried slapping or hexing him for daring to ask.

She stared at him hard for a few moments until she finally held her arm out.

His fingers cupped her wrist as he withdrew his wand from his pocket and gently pushed the sleeve up. His eyes tightened at the sight of the scars that would be forever pink.

He twirled his wand in a set of complicated corkscrews and flicks, singing an incantation under his breath. A tingling sensation spread across her skin, as if she’d been numbed. The flesh looked to be smoothing out, the angry color fading. She could tell that the wound was still there, but now it was invisible.

“What was that?” she whispered.

“Something Snape devised. He and Bellatrix didn’t get along,” he said, averting his eyes again as he put his wand away.

“How long does it stay?”

“Until you reverse it. I’ll teach you the counter-charm tomorrow night, if that’s alright?” he asked, shifting his eyes to hers to gauge her reaction.

“Thank you,” she said, still staring at her arm in wonderment.

She was now free to wear the gorgeous dresses that Ginny had been filling her closets with and begging her to wear. It was one less thing to obsess over every time she was out in public. Especially if there was a photographer underfoot. No more stares or questioning her about how it had happened or what it was like to be Crucioed seven times in a row for so long. Was she still mentally stable? If so how had she held herself together?

“I’ll see you tomorrow evening,” he said, taking a step back. She blinked, realizing that she’d retreated inside her own head again. There was no telling what her expression had been, but judging from Malfoy’s closed features she wasn’t sure it’d been a pleasant one.

He withdrew his cigarette case from an inner coat pocket as he took up his spot at the lamp post, watching her.

“See you tomorrow,” she said, giving him a soft smile before turning and striding to the Apparition point. She envisioned home and turned into the void.

The first thing she did after she set her bag down was to retrieve the journal, making notes of everything, but especially the charm he’d used on her arm. She didn’t want to think too hard on why he’d done it, but it was still natural to question his motive and wonder if what he’d cast was  _ only _ a concealment charm. 

The memory of his hand cradling her wrist made her desperately wonder why he suddenly found it perfectly acceptable, natural even, to touch her.

She wrapped up the notes and put the journal away. She bit her lip as she gathered her courage and scribbled Ginny a note, relieved there were several hours of Quidditch practice left and thus quiet. She knew if she showed up with a bare arm without allowing Ginny to take part in preparations, the girl would flay her alive. Using the Floo, she left the letter on their hearth.

Errand complete, she wandered into the kitchen to make that lemon mousse and berry trifle, trying to ignore the uncomfortable feelings as they seeped back into her chest as time wore on.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> See you all next Saturday!


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Huge thank you to my wonderful Alpha/Betas NuclearNik and Monica03, without them this would be a disaster. Also a huge thank you to my Omega (pre-reader) MarshmallowMcGonagall.
> 
> Also a huge thank you to everyone who comments, gives kudos here as well as reblogs and likes on tumblr (my handle there is noncanon love and I give teasers towards the end of the week). All of that gives me life and really makes my day, so thank you all for those!
> 
> Disclaimer: I own nothing.

It had been a wise decision for Hermione to have written Ginny the day before. As soon as she had found the letter, Ginny told her that she’d flung open her largest trunk and dumped in every single dress with the exception of the one she planned on wearing to the event, followed by accessories, makeup magazines, and every hair embellishment she owned. She then shrank the trunk until it fit in her pocket and waltzed through Hermione’s Floo as if they were housemates.

Hermione had known what was coming and merely put away her Potions Digest, leaning back against the couch. She watched as Ginny brought the trunk back to size and magically floated every dress she owned to where they were easily seen, then looked at Hermione expectantly. She sighed and rose to go stand next to her, holding her arm out to Ginny.

“He really did it then? Honestly, I'd assumed that he’d been able to reduce it at most. What’d he use?” Ginny asked as she examined the flesh of Hermione’s forearm, poking and prodding at it.

“Something of Snape’s creation.” Hermione shrugged.

“Well, in my opinion, that’s the least he owes you, so it’s a good start. Glad to see that I don’t have to curse him yet,” she mumbled.

The rest of their time together was a blur of modeling dresses until they’d found the perfect one, according to Ginny anyway.

Now standing in front of the mirror, Hermione hardly recognized herself in the red chiffon gown with its empire waist and sweetheart neckline. Dangly pearl earrings adorned her lobes along with a loosely beaded triple strand at her wrist. There had been a matching necklace that Hermione had gently refused, ill at ease with that particular type of jewelry anymore.

She turned her head to examine Ginny’s pièce de résistance one final time.

Her hair had been smoothed back into a large bun of soft curls. It’d had Ginny grumbling in envy over how easy it was to make her hair beautiful once the correct charms had been applied in the correct order. Once everything had been secured with magic, she'd pulled a plain rectangular box out of her trunk and simply stared at it for a few minutes. Before Hermione could interrupt her train of thought, Ginny brought it over and placed it on the vanity in front of her. She looked between Ginny and the box a few times before opening it. 

On a plush bed of velvet lay a headpiece comprised of clusters of tiny pearls designed to look like small bunches of baby’s breath interspersed with small, smoky-green jadeite beads shaped as tiny leaves with a matching green satin ribbon on either end. Her breath caught as she stared at it.

“It’s customary in Pureblood circles for sisters to gift each other things for their weddings.” Ginny clasped her hands in front of her. “I got this for you when I thought you and Ron were going to be together in a more permanent fashion, but after the final battle, I somehow knew things had shifted enough between the two of you to where that would never happen. We’re sisters in all the ways that count and even though this isn’t your wedding, it felt right to give this to you now. Pearls have significance in magic, you know. Or actually, you probably don’t. I always forget that you’re Muggle-born and don’t know the little intricacies most of us grew up knowing.”

Hermione’s eyes drifted towards Ginny in curiosity. What else was she missing out on? What things did children immersed in this world take for granted that people like her struggled to catch up on? Primarily the things not found in books, like nuanced social signals and customs. She'd always be behind in some form regardless of how hard she worked.

Ginny tucked her hair behind her ear. “Pearls are traditionally worn to enhance one’s femininity, to attract happiness, to improve concentration, to strengthen self-esteem, and to ensure balanced emotions and equitable love relationships,” she recited as if she’d done this before on command, and if Hermione had a guess, it had been for Great Aunt Muriel. “But the reason I’m giving them to you is in the hope that the Old Magic holds true in order to strengthen your self-esteem, ensure balanced emotions, and attract happiness. You, out of everyone, deserve that and more, Hermione.”

Hermione had to blink back tears as she got up and flung herself into Ginny’s embrace. Her heart thundered in her chest, not because she thought the beautiful pearls held any sort of magic, or that they did anything that Ginny had described. No, it was because Ginny had claimed her as her sister. Not because of her relationship to Harry or Ron, but just because she regarded Hermione as important in her own right. After everything, Hermione placed immense value on that attribute. It was obvious Ginny believed, at least to some degree, in the magic she’d described. The fact that she’d given Hermione a sacred gift that was normally reserved for a wedding day in an attempt to help her spoke more than any words could.

They embraced for long minutes before Ginny guided her back into the chair and fastened the headpiece around the bun. With a touch of her wand, the ribbon hid itself in the mass of curls. Makeup charms came next in the form of smoky eyes with thick winged liner and smudge-proof lips that matched her dress. Then finally it was time to don the whimsical dress itself. Once Ginny had given her a tight hug with whispered words of thanks from Hermione, she disappeared through the Floo to go get ready herself.

It was still early, but Hermione couldn’t imagine sitting around another half hour before she apparated to the Huntress Fountain, where Malfoy would meet her. She went to collect her shoes, and a small package on the bed made her pause. The unboxed thigh highs in question were too sexy for the occasion and nobody would see them. Yet she couldn’t deny what Ginny had said about how that didn’t matter, and if they made her feel sexy then that was reason enough to wear them because they would give her confidence a boost. That was the reason Ginny had stuffed her into a matching set of black lace underwear. 

She huffed and sat down to slide on the pair of delicate lace topped thigh highs, charming them to stay in place. She slid her feet into her black kitten heels with the bow across the toes, equipped with the extra cushioning charms, and fastened the ankle straps.

She shrank the beaded bag and stuck it in the secret pocket in the skirting. Hermione noted that she hadn’t put in an effort like this since the Yule Ball.

With wand in hand, some focus on destination, determination, deliberation, and a twist into the void, she arrived on a notice-me-not charmed platform. After two Muggles finished passing by the area, she stepped off of the platform and headed down the path.

It was unexpected, however, for the tall blond to be standing and staring up at the statue with his hands clasped behind his back almost thirty minutes early. He was decked out in an all-black suit with polished pointed boots that seemed all the rage amongst the posher pure-blooded men. Malfoy shifted his weight, revealing a hint of a silver snake buckle. The muted clack of heels against concrete alerted him that he wasn’t alone but he didn’t bother turning.

“You’re early.” He glanced over his shoulder with the barest turn of his head.

“As are you” She closed the distance, coming to stand next to him, admiring the artistry of the work. “Nice winklepickers.”

His head jerked in her direction, brows furrowed in confusion. She waved a hand towards his feet and his expression cleared, gray eyes rolling in disdain as he muttered something under his breath. The word ‘Muggle’ stood out among them and she whipped around towards him, planting her fists on her hips.

“ _ What _ was that?”

He turned to her, unfazed. “I said that that was a ridiculous Muggle name for poulaines. What did you think I said?”

“I’ve no idea, but whenever the word  _ Muggle _ comes out of  _ your _ mouth, it’s usually not in accordance with anything polite.”

He scoffed and turned back to the fountain, drawling, “I suppose I’m not allowed to think such things, let alone say them.”

“I never said that, Malfoy, just like I never said it isn’t a silly name. However, it’s the only one I know,” she spat and turned back to glare venomously at the statue as she crossed her arms underneath her breasts.

It was silent for a long, excruciating moment before a low, long-suffering sigh came from the wizard next to her. “It wasn’t my intention to offend you. However, I still stand by my opinion.”

Her shoulders relaxed, arms dropping back to her sides. “I suppose I shouldn’t have assumed. You’ve given me no reason to do so since our reacquaintance.”

He shifted back towards her. “I also stand by what I said yesterday. You look exquisite in red.”

A blush danced along her cheeks. “Thank you. I’m not used to being so...” She gestured to her bare arms and shoulders.

“Exposed?”

“Precisely.” She finally shifted back towards him again, willing the excess blood from her face. 

“You have nothing to be self-conscious about. Not that you ever did,” he murmured, grasping her left hand in his and pulling her forearm out. His wand seemed to come out of nowhere. “I put up temporary Muggle repelling charms. They’ll come down when we leave,” he assured before casting the counter charm.

The pink, puckered word glared up at her again and she flinched against it as she withdrew her own wand.

Draco talked her through the charm and the counter, watching Hermione do each before he was satisfied. Before he could let go of her hand, however, she darted the other to his cuff and gently slid it up just enough to see the snake’s head. He ripped himself from her grasp, yanking the sleeve back down viciously as he stepped back.

Her eyes flew to his, the question that had been burning in her mind since the day before now answered. A dusky pink had settled on his cheekbones above his tightly clenched jaw.

“I don’t know what you’re playing at,” he spat from between his teeth

“Why don’t you cover it since you know the charm that will work on it?” she interrupted.

Gray eyes narrowed. “Why? Afraid you’ll have to see it?”

She scoffed. “Not at all. I just don’t see why you wouldn’t. You took the Mark under duress—”

“I  _ wanted _ it. I’d wanted it ever since I saw my father’s when he began grooming me to follow in his footsteps. The things I did… Neither I, nor the Wizarding world, will ever forget and likely will never truly forgive.”

Her eyebrows scrunched together as she stared down at the space between them. “You at least need to learn to forgive yourself.”

Gentle hands took hers into his much larger ones and she felt herself calm at a molecular level.

Once he had her full attention he crooned, “This is my penance, to bear this for the rest of my life. I got off quite easily for  _ all _ my many offenses. A year’s house arrest and monitored use of my wand during it. That was it. That was my only punishment. I showed you the charm because that never,  _ ever _ should’ve happened to you. You have enough that haunts you without anything else exacerbating things.”

He had already apologized for everything during their first lunch together, but this meant so much more. It was one thing to hear “I’m sorry” and another to  _ hear _ the remorse he held. Hermione could see his pain in the way his eyes tightened and crinkled at the corners as he spoke of it, could see plainly his regret that he couldn’t stop it. That he gave her a means to truly cover it when he didn’t have to do a damn thing was what made her a believer that he wasn’t lying or scheming when he said he wanted to be friends.

She didn’t like his reason in the slightest, however. It felt too much like self-flagellation but maybe she could help him see, in time, that he didn’t have to put himself through that. So, for now, she would let it go.

“Okay,” she whispered with a small frown, looking up at him through her lashes.

He watched her, as if waiting for her to change her mind and go on one of her epic tirades about fairness, justice, and all of that Gryffindor righteousness. When it didn’t come he relaxed and let a grin curl one side of his mouth.

“My mother didn’t like it either but she respected that it was my choice, in the end. So, thank you for not making me fight with you about it.” His eyes crinkled, this time with appreciation..

She gave him a nod as her gut twisted at those words. Trying to take his choice away, or more accurately that he would view her as trying to take his choice away, wasn’t something she’d really considered and now both sides of the thought made her unhappy. Maybe being his friend could help change his perspective without her interfering at all. And if it didn’t happen, then she would leave it alone. At least, she hoped she could.

He released one of her hands to reach into his waistcoat pocket to retrieve his watch. It was an understated matte silver, yet it was obvious it was a high-quality timepiece. The surprise came when he flipped the cover open and she could see what was on the lid. Instead of a snake, dragon, or his Hogwarts house crest, it was the constellation he’d been named after, shaped by emeralds and connected by dark glittering lines. It was beautiful in a way she hadn’t expected.

“It’s a good thing you came early. If not, our little disagreement would have put us behind. Shall we?” With a sudden click, he slid the watch back away and offered her his right arm.

She tucked her arm through his, gently gripping his forearm. A twist into the void had them looking up the walkway at a four-story stone house, built in the Richardson Romanesque style. That is, if the dozens upon dozens of windows with arched tops, the recessed balconies and porches, as well as the turrets topped with conical roofs were anything to judge by.

He led her up the walkway with a gentle tug, finally breaking the spell the grand estate house had cast over her. Expansive lawns surrounded them. Meticulously shaped shrubbery in the form of all sorts of magical and mythical beasts dotted the space, surrounded by sumptuous flower beds. Kelpies, rocs, mermaids, Pegasus, satyrs, and manticores all depicted in as fine a detail as if they were carved from marble rather than shrubbery.

Hermione stopped dead at the flicker of a wing. Draco looked back, brows furrowed at her sudden stop. “What’s wrong?”

“I could have sworn I saw that Pegasus move…”

“You likely did. Come along, I’ll bring you back out here later and you can examine them more closely,” he promised.

She tore her eyes away after another heartbeat and stepped back up next to him, allowing him to lead her the rest of the way to the grand house.

Draco opened the front door, leading her inside. He must have been a frequent visitor to just enter unannounced. Before he could take her any further, a small woman dressed in seafoam green dress robes entered the foyer leading along a battalion of house-elves dressed in spiffy tea towels while kindly giving out last-minute instructions. She froze at the sight of them before a smile lit up her features, her blue eyes sparkling with joy. With her neat, coiffed brown hair and heart-shaped face, she looked so much like Adrian.

“Draco, darling! I haven’t seen you in far too long!” she lamented as he brought her hand to his mouth to kiss the knuckles.

He scoffed with a good-natured grin. “You saw me last Wednesday.”

She rolled her eyes dramatically and plucked her hand from his. “Yes, I saw you for all of the three minutes you barged in on your mother and I so you could get a look at our guest list before evaporating.”

“I never said we spoke, so far we’ve only discussed seeing.” He shrugged.

Hermione shifted, which drew the attention of their hostess. Intelligent, observant eyes drifted across her form and she wondered what was going on behind them.

“Elora, I would like to introduce you to Hermione Granger. Hermione, this is Adrian’s mum, Elora Pucey.”

“It’s lovely to meet you, Miss Granger. I’ve heard so much about you from Narcissa.” She smiled.

Draco froze for only an instant, but Hermione caught the pause in motion as he brushed his fringe away from his eyes. She could only wonder what Narcissa had told the woman.

“And you as well. You have such a lovely home, Mrs. Pucey,” Hermione said after they grasped one another’s hands in greeting.

“Oh, thank you, dear! Draco, you must take her out to the fifth greenhouse sometime this evening. Just don’t let anyone else notice if you can help it, we’ve warded it off from anyone not accompanied by a family member. The Mariphasa Lupina Lumina and Aglaophotis are beginning to bloom,” she said, beaming with pride.

His brows rose, gray eyes widening. “He’s finally done it then? Adrian’s been working on those for years.”

“He had some help, he wouldn’t say from who though.” Elora’s lips pursed. “Whoever he’s found, they’re quite talented where plants are concerned. Anyway, enough about that. I need to find Reginald before people start arriving. Give her a tour, Draco. If either of you need anything this evening, please don’t hesitate to find me.” She gave each of them a kind smile before hurriedly clicking away, the flock of elves following along.

“Come along then, Granger. Let’s show you around while the place is still nice and relatively empty,” he said as he headed towards what she assumed was the direction of the ballrooms.

“So you’re related to them then?”

“The Black family is exceedingly extensive. You can trace most relations back through them. Elora and my mother are first cousins. She is the daughter of Great Uncle Alphard,” he explained.

“Oh, so you and Adrian are cousins.”

“Yes. Our mothers are very close. We grew up together,” he explained as he led her through the ballroom where the band was getting ready, then out to the back garden.

As he had described, the immediate area was divided and terraced almost all the way down to the lake. Each expansive level held some form of entertainment. The one that caught her eye first was an enormous chessboard with elevated seating to one side of it.

“Fancy a game?” he asked, grinning mischievously.

“Not particularly. I was never good at it.” She sniffed and turned her attention down further towards the water. “What’s that?”

“Oh, that’s the range for the archery tournament I was telling you about. I don’t suppose you’re much of a Robin Hood are you?” He studied her with his head tipped to one side.

“I’ve never shot a bow,” she muttered, dashing on to the more pressing question. “How do you know about Robin Hood?”

“I read.” He grabbed her hand and led her down a few levels to the pathway that led off towards the forest.

Several other lawn game attractions were set up but Hermione noticed one in particular was missing.

“Don’t you pure-bloods play croquet? I figured it was essentially the equivalent of the national sport amongst you blue bloods,” she said airily.

He shot her a look with narrowed eyes and pursed lips. “Of course we play croquet, Granger, but games on brooms will always reign supreme. They just aren’t apropos for this setting. Mother has a solid eElm set that came from France with Armand Malfoy. It’ll be set up on the front lawns. How else do you expect them to show off all of those sculptures?”

The path turned to flagstone when it hit the trees. The forest was thick, eating up the light and quickly casting them in shadows. It reminded Hermione of the Forbidden Forest at Hogwarts in that way. An array of colorful, bright bioluminescent plants lined each side and illuminated the path instead of shallow, wide mouth urns of fire or bluebell flames she’d seen at many other estates.

They’d passed three turn-offs before she caught sight of bright lights reflected off of glass and realized that he was taking her to the greenhouses.

“What were those plants Mrs. Pucey was talking about? I’ve never heard of them before”

“That’s surprising, not least because you shared classes and a common room with Longbottom for six years. Mariphasa Lupina Lumina, or the Wolf Flower, is something that’s being experimented with to make something more effective and with fewer side effects—not to mention cheaper—than the Wolfsbane potion. Something they could take on the first day of the full moon that would last for the duration of the cycle. The plant itself is a rarity because it was used nearly to extinction. It’s normally onerous to grow outside of Siberia and even harder to get it to bloom. They need to remain open for one night before they’re harvested, so we’re lucky it coincided with the party tonight. As for the other, Aglaophotis, it’s a cousin of the European Peony that supposedly wards off demons and witchcraft according to myth. The real value of it, researchers are finding, is that it combats fevers more effectively in diseases like Dragon Pox and Black Cat Flu. The fever, as you probably know, is the most problematic part of both diseases and is the primary cause of system failure and death in patients who succumb to them.” His eyes tightened at the end and she wondered if someone close to him had suffered in the worst way from one of the afflictions.

“She said Adrian had been working on it?”

“Yes, it’s been a long-term goal of his ever since he came across mention of the flowers in the Hogwarts library. He’s had to pay out the nose to get cuttings of the plant, not to mention the seeds, and it was considerable work from there. Recreating the conditions that make the plant grow, for example, took a lot of work and a great deal of correspondence from reclusive botanists in Siberia. He’s pursuing a double mastery in both herbology and potions. I’ve agreed to help him develop a few of the recipes he has in mind.” He pulled her suddenly off the path, but instead of trampling through flowers, they broke through the enchantment that kept people from knowing where the entrance to Greenhouse Five was.

It was massive in both height and width, the peak nearly breaking through the tops of the trees. The glass was opaque for several stories before it faded clear again. Draco led her inside and she had to stop to let her eyes adjust to the gloom they’d entered. The greenhouse was seemingly divided by a wall that allowed light to filter through at precisely the shade of moonlight during a full moon. 

As she adapted, she found herself standing in row upon row of creamy white flowers cascading alongside one another, bending the tops of thin, reedy stalks into an arch much like bluebells. They weren’t as luminescent as the masses of flowers along the path, but gave off a delicate glow all their own. She inhaled tentatively, but instead of anything floral, the only detectable notes were of moist, turned earth.

She felt, rather than saw him watching her as she took everything in with wide eyes. He led her closer to one of the larger specimens, and Hermione discovered that instead of a smell, they exuded an aura of peace. She also noticed the stalk trembled as they neared, causing the flowers to shake like bells as they jangled. She made to reach out to touch one of the blooms when Draco caught her hand, shaking his head ominously at her.

“Watch.”

A flick of his wand had summoned a fly, which made a beeline for the blooms. As it landed on the back of one of them, the bloom behind it snapped it up, turning in on itself as if it were a fist closing before relaxing back into its regular shape.

“It’s a carnivore, and a predatory plant,” she surmised.

He nodded. “The peace they exude, the harmless visage, the trembling, all of that baits you into the mindset that it’s harmless. They only bloom in the period of polar nights when the moon is full. Many magical botanists have lost pieces of fingers to them. All of the ones Adrian was able to find who knew anything practical about them live above the arctic circle. The one he corresponds with the most lives in Tiski, Siberia.”

The whole thing gave her a sense of awe that she hadn’t felt since before the war.

Before she could think much more, Draco pulled her towards the barrier. He didn’t slow as he stepped through, and she found this too was just a magical division. She froze again, blinking in the sudden brightness. It was as if she’d stepped from cold midnight to warm, humid noon. Once her sight had returned she found herself surrounded by rows upon rows of bright pink flowers that resembled peonies.

Her eyes cut to the side to find him watching her again. “Erm, these aren’t dangerous are they?”

A deep chuckle rumbled from his throat. “No, in comparison these are pretty much plain. They thrive in the light but are quite finicky. All conditions must stay within tight parameters or they’ll die quickly.”

He pulled her back through the barrier after she got another good look before explaining further. “They seem to do best with limited human presence. It took Adrian a long time to figure that part out. A minute or so won’t hurt though,” he assured.

He led her back to the path and took her through the other four greenhouses. While impressive, they just didn’t live up to the first one. From there he took her down to the docks of the massive lake, showing her the self-paddling boats of different whimsical, fanciful designs. Miniature pirate ships, swan-shaped boats that blinked at you, langskips big enough for only two people, tiny biremes, and a host of many others populated the water, awaiting passengers. Hermione felt much like she was looking at a visual history of ships from around the world.

By the time they’d made it back to the main house, the place was filling with guests. Draco slid his hand from hers, causing a sense of loss until she felt it settle at the small of her back. They were close enough for music to begin reaching them when she caught sight of her friends.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> See you all next Saturday! <3


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Huge thank you to my wonderful Alpha/Betas NuclearNik and Monica03, without them this would be a disaster. Also a huge thank you to my Omega (pre-reader) MarshmallowMcGonagall.
> 
> Also a huge thank you to everyone who comments, kudos, bookmarks, follows, and favorites as well as reblogs and likes the update posts on tumblr (my handle there is noncanon love and I give teasers towards the end of the week). All of that gives me life and really makes my day, so thank you all for those! (Especially this week. Our senior doxie passed away on Sunday and I literally sat down and reread all of the comments&reviews just for a temporary escape from the heartache.)
> 
> Disclaimer: I own nothing.

Ginny had obviously told Harry that she and Draco would be attending the gala together because neither looked surprised. Ron, however, looked like he could chew iron ore and spit out horseshoes fit for Madame Maxime’s Abraxans. By his side, sure as Malfoy had said, was Pansy, decked out in a buttery-gold satin sheath dress, frosted in accessories comprised of winking diamonds with tall, strappy black heels adorning her feet. 

“I thought Ginny was joking, Hermione, but apparently I was wrong,” the redhead said through clenched teeth, his ears red.

“No, Ronald, she wasn’t. Draco and I are becoming friends and he offered to accompany me, not that I have to explain myself to you.” She sniffed disdainfully. This was one of the many reasons she and Ron would’ve never worked and she was glad she’d been able to acknowledge that honestly to herself back then.

Ron opened his mouth to plow on ahead, but was interrupted by a dramatic sigh of long suffering from Pansy. Hermione found it eerily reminiscent of those Draco was fond of expelling. It made her curious as to whether it was primarily something one had picked up from the other or just a Slytherin thing. It did its job though. Ron looked at his date and muttered an apology.

“Potter. Red.” Draco nodded to the other two politely.

“Malfoy.” Harry nodded in return. Despite Harry’s inherent suspicion of Draco, he’d learned how to behave at these sorts of events, and she could rely on him not to cause a scene.

“Let me just say, Malfoy, if you do anything untoward to Hermione, a Bat-Bogey Hex will be tame in comparison,” Ginny said with a cheerful grin. Happy demeanor aside, everyone in attendance of the conversation knew she meant it and Harry would back her.

“Noted.” Draco returned as he snagged two glasses of champagne, handing one to Hermione.

Hermione wanted to roll her eyes but knew her friends were just looking out for her. More than that, she knew it would do no good to raise objections. So, she sipped the bubbly and watched Ernie MacMillan and Susan Bones attempt a game of quoits on the terrace below them. Neither were doing particularly well.

Out of the corner of her eye she watched as Draco discovered what had her attention. A grin bloomed across his face and put her on edge.

Draco turned back to the quartet. “Say, Red, fancy a game of croquet? You do know how to play right?”

Ginny was nothing if not competitive.

“I will gleefully wipe the floor with you in any game you propose, Malfoy, whether I initially know how to play or not.” She threw back the rest of her champagne and set the empty glass on a side table where it instantly vanished.

“We’ll see,” he said before following suit and looking at Hermione. “Playing, Granger?”

Hermione probably stood no chance of winning against either of them, but figured she may have a chance against Harry and Ron. Pansy was an unknown variable.

“Why not?” She drained her own glass like the rest of them and discarded it.

A large, warm hand took her own and centered her with his touch as he led the six of them around to the front lawn again.

Where before it had been empty, now there were groups of people out in different sections wielding long mallets.

It occurred to her that Ron being in close proximity to Draco with a croquet mallet may not be the best idea they’d come up with, but she strangely trusted Pansy to continue keeping Ron in line.

When they entered the closest empty croquet court, it outlined itself in chalk, and a scoreboard climbed up out of the ground with each of their names listed on it. A rack appeared in front of it with six polished ash clubs, a singular ring of color on each end of the mallet and matching balls at the bottom. The stakes and wickets rose out of the ground on the playing field in perfect proportions in the classic double diamond shape, which gave Hermione a convoluted sense of normalcy when it came to games wizards favored playing.

Pansy was the first to raise her hand and  _ Accio _ a ball, unwittingly showing Hermione how the order of play was chosen, which was completely at random. The rest of the party summoned theirs, leaving Hermione with the orange ball and its matching mallet. She glanced at the scoreboard again to see that the order of players had shifted to Pansy, Harry, Ron, Ginny, Draco, and herself.

“Any challenges?” Ginny looked at each person in turn.

Harry and Ron both looked lost, so Pany stepped in, mainly on Ron’s behalf. “Let’s just get through this set and we’ll see about it next game.”

The game started out friendly, but it didn’t exactly stay that way. To Hermione’s surprise, the fighting didn’t start up between Draco and anyone else. Instead, it boiled up between Ron and Ginny. The first time she scored bonus shots was by hitting her ball just hard enough so it bounced off of Ron’s. Then for her first bonus shot, she played a foot roquet to knock her brother’s ball well to the opposite side of the pitch. Thus began the first argument. Ron was adamant that Ginny was cheating, which started a shouting match. When Ginny picked her mallet up off the ground, Hermione interrupted by asking for a reading of the rules, which was provided by the scoreboard in a prim, snobby voice.

The situation was not at all helped by Ginny’s vicious grin nor Harry’s attempt at placating Ron.

The second time, halfway around the wickets, Ginny did it again and managed to hit Ron’s ball almost back to the beginning. The final time occurred when Ron had just gotten back into play at the twelfth wicket, and she rocketed it to the furthest corner back past the far turning stake. He vibrated with rage and clutched his mallet a bit too threateningly when Pansy sent her own mallet and ball zooming back to the rack. Ron’s wrenched itself from his grip and followed its fellow.

Pansy grabbed his arm, curling her fingers around his forearm enough to dig her nails in. “You know, I happen to know where a giant chess set is with your name on it,” she stated before marching him around the end of the house more quickly than one should be able to move in heels that tall.

Draco was leaning casually on his mallet, smirking at the scene when Hermione turned to him, wide-eyed and mouth open.

“I told you Pansy would be a good mediator,” he muttered when he noticed her expression.

Hermione felt immense relief at both Ron being removed from the situation and at not having to be the one to split up the fight for once.

The game resumed and continued much more amiably, ending in a satisfactory manner. To Hermione’s tastes at least.

Draco had come in first while Ginny had been busy exorcising her rage over Ron’s behavior, then Hermione, then Ginny, and lastly Harry.

After everyone returned their equipment and the croquet court had sunk back into the ground to await a new set of players, Hermione turned to Ginny.

“So, what exactly was all of that about? I thought Ron was about to try to launch you to the moon with his mallet.”

A mean smirk crawled its way across her lips, and Harry ran a hand through his hair in exhaustion with the siblings. 

“Well, after you left the last party, Ron thought it would be hilarious to use the charm George uses on Canary Creams and afflict my plate with it. So, the next piece of bacon-wrapped apple I put in my mouth turned me into a bloody giant canary in front of everybody at the party. This was just a portion of my revenge on him.”

“Just a  _ portion  _ of it?” Draco said, one blond brow quirked.

Harry groaned. “Don’t even get her started. Things between them have been escalating over the past two weeks. It’s essentially been war and the only peace I’ve gotten is when I’ve barred them both entry to the attic.”

“I’m starving. Let’s get something to eat and go watch Ron play chess,” Ginny suggested with a glint in her eye.

“Only, and I mean  _ only _ , if you promise we’re just going to watch. Anything else needs to wait, Gin,” Harry said as he looked over his glasses at her.

Ginny scoffed. “Nobody even saw this and everyone saw what happened to me at the last party!”

“I guess you should have saved it for a better opportunity then,” he needled.

Ginny clenched her fists, her nostrils flaring as she stormed off, muttering threats under her breath.

“Looks like you’re sleeping on the couch tonight, Potter.” Draco watched her enter the ballroom closest to the bar and buffet.

“Probably, but I made her promise only one form of retribution tonight. It’s not like I can’t make the couch in the fly room more comfortable. She’ll calm back down and plan something appropriately horrible for the next one,” he said before he excused himself and headed in the direction Pansy and Ron had gone.

Draco turned towards her. “What’s a fly room? Does Potter collect brooms or something? Or is it some sort of magic room where he can fly indoors? That would be handy.”

She would never understand the obsession they all had with their broomsticks.

“When Harry finished the Auror program and settled into living at Grimmauld, he found that he actually had empty time to contend with while Ginny was in her last year of school. He’d thought about repairing Sirius’s old motorbike and using that for Muggle transport, but the prospect terrified Ginny. She didn’t trust other drivers to see him or respect him as a motorist while on the bike. So Harry took up fishing and decided to make all of his own flies and baits. He’s dedicated his attic space to storing all of his fishing gear, books, and equipment in there. He also carves from time to time, when he can’t get away to go fishing. It was something Hagrid taught him. All in all, it’s his hobby room, and Ginny almost never goes in there,” she said as she began to examine the closest shrubbery sculpture.

“Last time I checked he was a wizard, and he can do things, like, I don’t know, cast charms to make it to where he won’t get hurt driving should anything happen.” His old sneer made a faint reappearance.

“Too many close calls,” Hermione muttered. She didn’t bother bringing up the aspect of what the Muggles would think if Harry was in a wreck and came out unscathed.

Surely, Draco couldn’t argue that Harry had come so close to death so often that it’d feel like tempting fate one time too many should he decide to pursue the activity.

“Come on, let’s get something to eat. We’ve been here hours now,” he said as she circled a blinking Sphynx, cataloging all the tiny details.

Her lips fell into a pout. “You already promised to bring me back out here so I could look at them.”

“So I did, I just hadn’t counted on the game taking three times as long as what it should. Okay, look.” He held his hands up. “What if I promise to bring you back  _ and _ I guarantee Adrian will be available to answer questions to your heart’s content? Would that make up for it?”

The idea rolled around in her head, and she knew she would be silly to pass the opportunity up. “Fine, a rain check then.”

“Thank you.” He curled his hand around hers, his long fingers easily covering the span of her palm with slight pressure. Her own fingers clasped over his instinctually. She reveled in the peaceful sensation as he pulled her in the direction to which Ginny stomped off.

The sight of everyone filling the ballroom caused Hermione’s feet to root themselves to the ground. Her fingers twitched again for the wand concealed in a hidden pocket. When there was no longer slack in their arms, Draco turned and looked from her to the doorway and back. Turning on his heel, he led them back toward the main entrance.

Once inside, the pair heard the din from the party, but it wasn’t overpowering. From there he led her down the hallway toward the large, open double doors but abruptly turned toward the wall. She was ready for the trick that time and wasn’t surprised when he stepped straight through it, pulling her along behind him up a staircase. At the landing were two doors, one of which he gestured to and muttered, “Loo,” and the other they went through.

Hermione discovered them to be on a grand recessed balcony, but it seemed to be more of an outdoor living area as Draco had described. She was able to see the entirety of the backyard and there were even floor-to-ceiling windows to view the goings-n down in the ballroom. They obviously used the area for entertaining with the scattered groupings of couches, chairs, and tall tables arranged throughout the space to encourage small pockets of socialization. There was no railing at the edge; however, she suspected a permanent barrier charm was in place.

“Make yourself comfortable. I’ll be right back.” He disappeared back down the stairs, closing the door behind him.

Instead of sitting, she went to the window and watched as he appeared through the doors, heading for the refreshments table. Ginny sidled up next to him and Hermione went rigid, as if hit with the Body-Bind curse. They spoke, seemingly amicably, for a few minutes before Ginny headed toward the back doors. Draco watched her go before turning to look up where Hermione was standing; she wondered if he could see her.

He turned back to his original task of gathering finger foods. Once finished, he headed back the way he came, which prompted Hermione to choose a couch that allowed them to see over the backyard. She spied Ginny’s hair easily in the crowd as she joined Harry in watching what looked like Ron’s second chess match. Her lips twitched into a smile as Ginny laid her head on Harry’s shoulder and his arm slipped around her waist to pull her against his side. All was back to how it should be.

A plate of food breaking into her line of sight pulled her from her woolgathering. She took it and thanked Draco with a smile. It wasn’t until she’d eaten a piece of mushroom-fontina tart that she realized how hungry she’d become. She discovered two glasses of champagne sitting on the low table in front of them and wondered where they came from, not having seen him with them when he’d headed back up. She finished the plate off, trading it for the glass and taking a long sip.

“That was wonderful. Thank you,” she said, looking over to him.

“It was nothing. There’s no way I would have made you come in there with me after seeing your face out on the veranda, and I knew you had to be hungry. I certainly was,” he said, glancing toward her and back at the chess game.

“Still, I appreciate it.” She leaned back into the plush cushions.

She flexed her toes, mentally grimacing as they popped but secretly thrilled to be off of her feet finally.

“Feet hurting?” He seemed to know the answer already.

“I’m wearing heels, aren’t I?”

“Not tall ones like Pansy but yes, they still qualify, I suppose.” He slid a goat cheese-stuffed mushroom into his mouth and began chewing, mouthing away a smear of rogue cheese from his thumb as he chuckled at something happening in the game.

She wondered what it would feel like if he brushed his mouth across her skin like that. The thought stopped her dead, and she bit her lip.

“Take your shoes off and put your feet here.” He patted the empty space with one hand as his other discarded the plate onto the table.

“This isn’t my house,” she objected, but it was obvious it wasn’t exactly a suggestion when he waved his fingers in the direction of her feet.

The buckles obediently undid themselves and her shoes slipped from her feet to march themselves beneath the table.

When he moved to reach for her ankle, she stood and rearranged her skirting so that it wouldn’t be bunched awkwardly when she sat again. She leaned against the arm of the couch and her small feet rested on the cushion between them.

“Better?” He knew the answer to that question as well.

Her hem had pulled up to her knees, exposing the black stockings. His eyes drifted down her form, landing on her calves. He stared momentarily, his pupils blown wide, and his jaw clenching before he wrenched them away and forced himself to go back to observing the game.

“Yes, thank you.” She too went back to watching the different games, momentarily musing over what just occurred.

She shook the thought away because there was no way Draco had looked at her with naked desire written across his face. She just had shapely legs. It wasn’t hard, hearing the excuse echo in her mind from when Viktor Krum had told her such after the Yule Ball.

Hermione broke the silence with a commentary on the many boats scattered out across the water.

“Did you want to go out on the water?” he said.

“No, I like it up here in the quiet with only us.”

This time the silence that fell was a comfortable one until the resounding clang of a gong broke it again.

Draco rose and fished something out of the inner pocket of his suit coat, returning it to its proper size before handing it to her. It was a white box tied with green and silver silk bows.

“I brought these for you. The archery tournament is about to happen, and I knew the crowds would be a no-go. I’ll be back.” He turned and departed again.

She idly watched as people flooded from the ballroom and followed the pathway down to the lake near the docks where they had set up ten targets about fifty or so meters away from a platform. Each station had a bow and a quiver full of arrows with pure white feathers.

She spotted a head of platinum hair and turned her head to catch sight of Draco walking the long way around with nine other men towards the lake. She was able to pick out Harry, Theodore Nott, Cormac McLaggin, and Ernie MacMillan, but the remaining five were unidentifiable to her.

She looked at the box again, this time setting it in her lap before pulling at the tails until the bows fell away. The lid flipped open, and she was greeted with the sight of a pair of brass omnioculars. It made her think of the World Cup several years back. They were beautifully made and well cared for, but she could also see the tell-tale signs of their wear. She also noticed that they were far nicer than the pair she’d gotten at the Quidditch World Cup.

If she closed her eyes, she could imagine Draco holding them up to his face as he sat in a box at a Falmouth Falcons game, following his favorite player. Picking them up, her thumb brushed the side, and she turned them in her hand. Engraved in rolling script was ‘D. Malfoy’. He had brought her his own omnioculars so she could watch him shoot in the tournament.

Her heart did a funny little thing before she tried to squash it. He was only being polite, and he wouldn’t leave her up here by herself if she couldn’t see clearly what was going on below. Still, none of that changed the fact it was an intimate thing. It would touch her face and nose on all the same points it did him. She knew Draco wasn’t big on sharing much of anything with anyone with the exception of his sweets he’d received at Hogwarts, and she couldn’t ignore the fact. He could have brought her a brand-new pair, but he brought her his.

It took her a minute of fiddling with the controls, but by that point she’d lost him and had to work to spot him again. She found him again as he stood on his platform at the end furthest from the crowd.

He’d changed in the few moments he’d been out of her sight. Draco was still wearing the same pants and his winklepickers, but like the others she’d spotted, he too wore a form-fitting white sleeveless shirt. Her eyes landed on the faded, dark gray mark on his left forearm as he held his bow, testing the string and getting the feel of it. The muscles of his arms and shoulders flexed with the movement and she stared. He’d always been an athlete, on top of seven years of traversing stairs to different levels of the castle throughout the day. He’d told her over lunch one day he’d spent a good deal of time during his house arrest flying on his broom across the grounds of Malfoy Manor, sometimes for no other reason than just to escape his ruined childhood home.

For the first in a long time, a hunger unfurled itself inside her like a cat, as if it had merely been asleep in the sun somewhere and not non-existent. At that, there was no lying to herself—he was handsome and he was very, very fit.

He turned suddenly toward where she was. It was as if he were looking directly in her eyes despite the distance, throwing her a wink before the announcer called them to attention. A wild grin stole across her mouth, and she replayed the image at least a half dozen times before she could resume her focus. The announcer must have called them for their first shot because he notched his first arrow, drew, aimed, and let it fly. His face betrayed nothing of his result, but a flick of her gaze to the target showed he’d hit it dead on.

It was futile to try to pay attention to everyone; she always came back to rest on Draco, and after the third shot she gave up and left the omnioculars trained on his form. She’d noticed, though, that Draco’s bow was different. It was stripped bare of everything else the others had. No notches, sights, markings, or anything else, just a plain recurve. It made his marks all the more impressive.

On his tenth shot, he finally gave a faint smirk as she heard the noise of the crowd. Her eyes shot back to the target, and her mouth fell open. He’d split his first arrow with his last. That was a notoriously hard feat and one mainly seen in books because it was near impossible. She supposed she’d just found another of his hobbies from his yearlong seclusion.

She refocused on him in time to find him ignoring the crowd and staring up at her again. She bit her lip and raised one hand tentatively, and apparently it was all he was looking for, some sort of confirmation she’d seen him make the winning shot. A pleased, if smug, grin stretched his mouth to the point of showing a hint of teeth. He turned away to shake the hand of each judge as they made it to his platform, his left hand stuck in his pocket. While he wouldn’t cover up his mark, he also didn’t flaunt it.

Adrian and his parents came by after Draco’s competitors shook his hand to congratulate him. She almost missed the exchange and had to replay it back but she caught that something had passed from Adrian to Draco, who had smoothly put his right hand in his pocket afterwards. With the history between the two, she could only speculate as to what had been transferred.

When he started to wend his way back up to the estate house, she put his omnioculars back in the box after spelling them clean again. The ribbons, however went in her bag at the behest of magic.

She leaned back in her seat, surprised she didn’t have to wait long. She’d figured he’d at least socialize with his competitors for more than the trip down there and back, but the door opened to reveal Draco, once again dressed impeccably in his suit and silk tie.

“Congratulations on your win!” She held up her magically refilled glass.

He joined her on the couch, this time next to her, and picked his own glass up before he tapped it hers and took a drink.

“I’ve had plenty of time to practice. Aside from swordplay, archery was the only other Muggle-esque thing my father would allow as a pastime.”

“You’ll have to teach me sometime.” It could be one sporting thing she wouldn’t be too disastrous at, should she have a good instructor.

“As you wish. They’re about to start the light show now that it’s getting dark. Do you want to go down near the water or would you like to stay here?”

The choice was simple. “Here, if you don’t mind.”

Most of the guests, she’d noticed, stayed down at the docks or claimed boats and floated back out onto the lake.

Once darkness had fully fallen, spells lit up the night sky. Some twinkled like showers of glittering diamonds, others shot out shapes of animals, leaping and gamboling into the night air before dissolving into thousands of pale blue butterflies. Still some yet depicted mythical creatures like a charging minotaur or a frolicking magical beast like a unicorn, in a wide array of colors. She’d always left before the fireworks displays or whatever other grand finales to the night may have happened, but she didn’t imagine she’d react well to the flashing colors combined with the loud bangs inherent of fireworks. This though, this was nice.

She felt the warmth radiating off of Draco and felt compelled to lean over and put her head on his shoulder, absorb his heat. She forced herself to stay still, however, afraid that she’d ruin whatever was happening between them. Sometimes she had the feeling she was being watched despite the fact that whenever she snuck a glance of her own, his eyes were glued to the sky. In those small moments, she was able to appreciate the way the lights played against his pale, smooth skin and hair.

Eventually, the show came to an end with each performer shooting off a spell in tandem to flood the area in winking fireflies that stayed affixed and reflecting off the water.

“That was amazing,” she whispered.

“I’m guessing you’ve never seen anything like it?”

Hermione shook her head. “I usually leave well before the end.”

They watched as the masses climbed the hill back to the ballroom.

The music started up in the room below again, floating up through the evening sky into the open space.

Draco stood and extended a hand to her. “May I ask for the last dance of the evening?” 

She looked at it and her stomach clenched, never having been a fan of traditional dance. The thought waffled around, and finally, she determined that since he didn’t get an actual prize, she could at least give him this.

Setting her glass down, she placed her hand in his, chuckling as he pulled her past her shoes and into the middle of the room.

It wasn’t a waltz, tango, or foxtrot but something far simpler. One hand rested on her waist as the other held hers aloft. He guided her in slow circles that didn’t require much thought. She hadn’t realized the muscularity to him the first time he’d calmed her but she could feel it now as her hand rested on his shoulder and her arm draped alongside his own as he held her moderately close.

When his eyes caught hers this time, she was unable to look away. She was at ease again and felt as if something was connecting between them, building in an intangible way.

The strains of music finally tapered off, but neither seemed to be able to move away.

Draco looked as if he’d been about to say something to her when their host came through the door.

“Going to stay squirreled away up here all night?” Adrian goaded, bouncing his eyebrows.

Draco narrowed his eyes at him, opening his mouth to say something when she interrupted. “I really should be getting home, I imagine it’s getting late.”

“Are you sure? Don’t let this ponce make you feel as if you have to go.”

“I’m sure. All the excitement of the evening has left me pleasantly tired, for once.”

“I’ll walk you out,” Draco said as she broke contact with him to retrieve her shoes.

“The party was lovely, Adrian. Thank you for having me as a guest in your home,” Hermione said, affixing a polite expression on her face.

“It was lovely to have you here, Granger. You must come to the next event we hold, with or without this tosser.” He gave her a playful wink as Draco glared.

“Indeed. Goodnight,” she said in parting.

“Goodnight, Granger.” He nodded before looking at Draco again. “Find me when you’re done, I have some things to show you.”

Draco snagged her hand and led her past him, not bothering to give Adrian any sort of reply.

The walk took forever and no time all wrapped into one. Instead of where they came in, Draco led her in the opposite direction of the departing crowd, down to the longest pier. The sound of the water lapping at the banks was peaceful as the fireflies continued to flicker and glow overhead.

Once they reached the end, he turned her to face him.

“Thank you for coming with me tonight,” he said.

“No,  _ thank you _ for getting me to go with you. This has been the best night I’ve had in a long time. Especially at one of these events,” she admitted.

“I agree.”

Draco looked as if he wanted to say something else, and Hermione waited patiently.

“Close your eyes,” he whispered.

Her heart started up a rapid beat again, unsure of what would happen next, but she complied all the same.

He waited a few moments before he took something out of his pocket, pulled her hand up between them, and placed it in her palm before curling her fingers around it.

“Open.”

Her eyes popped open in surprise and shot to the box before moving back to him. He waited, still as a statue, until she pulled the lid off.

Inside resting on a tiny bed of satin was a flower-shaped pin, smaller than a brooch but larger than a tie tack. What drew her attention, though, was that it wasn't just any flower. It was very clearly a miniature replica of an Aglaophotis.

“It’s beautiful.” She traced the tiny petals, awed that they felt real.

“It’s yours,” he said, watching her intently.

Her eyes shot up to his. “This was a hard-earned win, I can’t take this. It’s the only prize you got for your display of skill.”

“Hermione. I want you to have it.” He gently closed her fingers back around the box. The sound of her name on his lips for the first time made her heart thunder in her chest. “Besides, I got a dance with you at the end of the night, didn’t I? That was prize enough.”

She swallowed hard. “But why?”

“Because you aren’t a woman to give flowers to. They stay beautiful for a few days then wilt, then there’s nothing left but to toss them out, and I know that’s not your style. Most women I know are like the Wolf Flower: beautiful, entrapping, and deadly. But you? You are like the Aglaophotis. You’re rare and lovely but your value is far beyond the external. You help control the fever of those ailing around you in life, stopping people from suffering certain death. You grew under intense conditions that made you into the composition you currently exist as and you wilt in the presence of others if you remain there for too long. Please accept this as a gift from me.”

Her mouth open, closed, then repeated a few times before she held the pin close to her chest. “Thank you.” It was obvious it was about more than just the pin. He’d undoubtedly thought about this at length, and she wondered if this was a prize at all and the exchange had just been a matter of convenient timing.

“Meet for lunch in Diagon Thursday?”

“Of course.”

He gave a slight bow to her, an antiquated motion, before he stepped back, waiting to see her off safely.

Not knowing what to do, she inclined her head with a smile and turned into nothingness, arriving home again, and looking forward to lunch on Thursday.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> See you next Saturday <3


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Huge thank you to my wonderful Alpha/Betas NuclearNik and Monica03, without them this would be a disaster. Also a huge thank you to my Omega (pre-reader) MarshmallowMcGonagall.
> 
> Also a huge thank you to everyone who comments, kudos, bookmarks, follows, and favorites, as well as reblogs and likes the update posts on tumblr (my handle there is noncanon love and I give teasers towards the end of the week). All of that gives me life and really makes my day, so thank you all for those!

Malfoy had owled Hermione the day after taking her back to the Pucey’s estate, as he’d promised he would. The missive said he’d heard from France’s Maison de Guérison and invited her to tea at a quiet shop located on one of Diagon Alley’s small offshoot streets. He was waiting at a table in the back corner where each of them could have their back to the wall, much like their previous lunch dates.

Once there, he’d pulled her seat out for her, fixed her tea, and then gave her his undivided attention. She made a rapid mental note that he could be intense in the way he studied her, drank her in. He always did it when he thought she wasn’t looking, but all she could come up with was that he was looking her over to see if she was okay, as if she were returning to him from some battle. It was consistent in their encounters. It didn’t make sense, but she didn’t comment on it. Once he seemed to gather nothing had happened to her between the times he’d seen her, he relaxed into his chair. She’d taken her own secret moment to study him while he’d been attending to their drinks, appreciating how good he looked in the dark blue three-piece suit and silver silk tie. She halfway wanted to slap herself over the thought but saw little point in denying the obvious.

She selected a pastry, a scone topped with lemon curd, and half a sandwich. She’d accidentally worked through lunchtime and her stomach was upset because of it. Once he made his own selections, he waited for her to drink first, like he had every other time. She wanted to be paranoid about it but was curious to find that she couldn’t pull forth that emotion; Hermione couldn’t deny how much better she felt around him. She felt calm again, almost normal even. It wasn’t enough to forget about the beaded bag resting in her lap, nor all it contained. Her mind was going constantly as always, but the fight or flight panic reaction her body liked to conjure had stopped again.

Whatever it was, she let it go and asked him about his day, as if they had made a simple tea date rather than meeting with a purpose. They made small talk until they both finished their food and tea, then he brought out the packet he’d received from Guerison. He moved his chair closer to hers as he went through the paperwork with her. It outlined the different methods they used, and she couldn’t help but notice their process was much more efficient than her local hospital. Their estimate was two weeks compared to St. Mungo’s month-long venture. It outlined what to bring with her including ID’s, and gave all of the other information that was required. She noted the dates they had available and her eyes lingered on them. They were due there on Monday, only three days from then.

He noticed, of course, and asked her if it would be a problem but she shook her head. “No, the sooner we can get rid of this the better we’ll both feel.”

He nodded and continued going over pertinent information.

She secretly wondered if the treatment would make her feel differently when she was around him afterward. Part of her hoped yes, so things would go back to a true normal, but a larger part of her hoped it didn’t. They were still building their friendship, and she found this side of him to be quite fascinating. He was interested in many of the same things she was. She’d discovered that he enjoyed the opera, and he’d grumbled last time about how he wasn’t going to get to see one of the very few they were holding this year in Italy because of their little problem. She didn’t know him well enough to ask him if he’d be interested in going to a Muggle one with her or even how he’d react to such an invitation. She finally decided that if they could handle crowds again after France, she would ask him.

Draco finished up with the papers, duplicating what she would need to prepare for the trip. He shoved them back in their envelope, shrank them, and slipped them into his inner jacket pocket. They chatted for another half hour about inconsequential things before they left. Like last time, Hermione gave him a stern look when she figured out that he’d paid for her again. At this he merely smirked, rose, and offered her his arm. Again, he took them around the back way to the closest Apparition point, his warm hand solid and comforting against her lower back. He stopped to watch her leave and again, she was grateful. She thanked him for tea and for walking her. He merely nodded and extracted his cigarette case as he watched her go.

The strange feeling settled back in, and she made a note of everything in her journal—especially her secret lamentation of how he’d not captured her fingers again—then owled Harry.

It took several hours, but he finally came stumbling through her Floo around eight o’clock, looking exhausted and filthy. He apologized for his appearance as she took her wand to tidy him and talked through his disaster of a day as she led him to sit at the bar in the kitchen. She made them both a bowl of simple buttered noodles with parmesan and herbs with a side of warm crusty bread. They ate in companionable silence, as was their way. Afterward, he washed the dishes by hand while she played with her cup.

Harry waited patiently after reclaiming his seat, knowing she would tell him in due time. While she gathered her thoughts, he apologized for being a terrible friend. He said he’d finally realized how much time she spent away from them now that the Burrow was too much for her. She wrapped him in a tight hug, muttering her forgiveness and sagged against him when he tucked her into his warm side.

She began talking fast, everything came out at once, and she felt his gaze as it settled on the top of her head. Malfoy, the agoraphobia, the first time Draco had helped her, and how she’d had tea with him today. She told him that they were going to the hospital in France together on Monday in order to conquer this problem of hers so she could  _ live _ again. She conveniently left out what Malfoy was attending for, figuring it was nobody’s business but theirs.  _ Theirs _ . That word struck an interesting cord. Hermione marveled at it for a moment before Harry broke into her thoughts.

“So just the agoraphobia?”

She played coy until he darted his hand out to snatch the beaded bag from the counter where it rested at her elbow. She wrenched it out of his reach, and hugged it to her chest. He looked at her with raised brows, and she huffed. 

“Nobody else knows about that. A woman carrying a handbag around with her everywhere she goes is hardly uncommon, Harry.”

He backed off and eyed her white knuckled grip, likely not wanting to push her until it really looked like she needed it, especially when she had something to bash him with in her grip. That was Harry’s style, afterall.

“So what’s Malfoy going for?” he wondered aloud, but she wouldn’t say, not wanting to betray Draco’s confidence. All Harry did was cock his head at her, turning to study her before giving up on it, likely filing it away for another day.

He did, however, try to persuade her to go to St. Mungo’s instead. “Once you cross the river to France, there’s almost nothing I can do for you should anything happen. If something goes down at the hospital, I can only assist if you list me as your next of kin. Should you get into any sort of trouble or have a run-in with the law, you’re largely on your own because while I’m somewhat known there, I have no clout with their Ministry. No ‘Savior of the Wizarding World’ card to wave around there in a pinch.” 

He paused and rubbed at his forehead, now a longtime habit rather than an indicator of Voldemort’s moods. “Nobody is supposed to know this, but we’re not exactly getting on with the French right now. So all that stuff I said before? Don’t take it lightly. The most I’ll be able to do is gather up a band of Order members and make an attempted rescue. If Malfoy ends up playing you to get you out of the country to spirit you away somewhere, you’ll be entirely on your own.”

She ignored the last bit and pulled out the papers Malfoy had sent her, as well as the papers she’d gotten from St. Mungo’s. She’d done her homework and found Draco had been telling the truth.

“Did you know that St. Mungo’s can detain you indefinitely? If they find anything they’re concerned over, whether or not you’re dangerous, they can hold you until you get someone to petition the Ministry to let you go. Not only that, the Voldemort Laws are _ still  _ in place so if they find anything that may be of any interest to the Ministry, they will turn over that information immediately. At Maison de Guérison you can leave at any time, provided they’re sure you’re not going to go out and start tossing around Unforgivables. All of your medical records remain strictly private and their warding of your information is second to none in the world.”

She slid both packets over to him, and Harry read over the piles of information with an increasingly furrowed brow before turning his attention back to her.

“Promise me you’ll list me as next of kin, and I won’t say a word against this, despite how bizarre Malfoy’s being. I don’t trust him at all when it comes to you, Hermione,” he insisted.

Would Harry ever stop suspecting the worst of Draco Malfoy?

“You need to let up on him, Harry. Malfoy isn’t going to do anything nefarious. Not only would he be risking an extended sentence in Azkaban, he would also be leaving his mother vulnerable. They were hated by both sides at the end, so after doing what he did in Sixth Year to save her, he’s not going to risk leaving her in an even more precarious situation with a target on her back for all and sundry.”

Unable to say anything against her, Harry moved on to other topics like the new line of charms Weasleys’ Wizard Wheezes was putting out.

He was still there a few hours later when she got Malfoy’s owl. She gave Hades a few treats before he regally flew away. Eager fingers opened the missive, and she devoured the short note. It informed her they would leave via portkey on Monday morning, have lunch in France, and then check in at three in the afternoon. She was to meet him where they last had tea and they would leave quietly from the back alleyway. Also included was a stack of admittance papers she would need to fill out and a postscript saying that he’d thought she may want to get a head start on them.

She rifled through the papers and pulled out the appropriate form. While Harry watched she listed his name under next of kin and as her emergency contact. He seemed to feel a bit better after seeing the papers signed, but told her the same thing Moody always had. “Constant vigilance, Hermione. Never forget it.”

She handed Harry the note to look over while leafing through the thick pile of forms. She snuggled in next to Harry and leaned against him, grinning as he wrapped an arm around her shoulders. It was nice, and it reminded her of times in the Gryffindor common room when they would sit together and just think or work on homework.

Hermione eventually completed the forms, triple checking everything was correct. Afterward, she gathered all of the documents together and stuffed everything into an envelope. Then she reclaimed her seat on the couch, sinking back into Harry’s side. They’d spent many evenings during the Horcrux hunt when Ron was gone like this, trying to keep warm when the fire wasn’t enough and neither were the warming charms. It was peaceful and calming and comforting, even if it didn’t soothe the ache behind her breastbone.

For whatever reason, Harry held her a bit closer, a bit tighter, as if this wasn’t something that would be viable in the future. The notion was silly of course, but she didn’t say anything. It was late when she started nodding off against him and he shook her gently, saying he was about to go and that she should go to bed; it was almost midnight. She merely nodded and hugged him tightly one more time before he disappeared in a whoosh of green flames.

Afterward, she got ready for bed and pulled out her favorite pink vibrator, figuring she may as well get in some stress relief over the next couple of days before being admitted for two weeks where she knew she wouldn’t be doing any such thing. No matter what she usually fantasized about during these stress relief sessions, there was one man who’d taken over her thoughts as of late. She couldn’t stop herself from imagining his strong, warm hands as they drug across her flesh, or that delicious mouth of his on her skin. The vivid imagery of him looking up at her with those intense eyes from between her thighs snapped the taut band that left her trembling and screaming into her pillows, stars exploding behind her eyes from how hard she screwed them shut. When she came back down, she clicked the toy off, spelled everything clean, and fell into a deep sleep.

The next day she packed. Mainly comfortable things like lounge pants, jumpers, long sleeve shirts, pajamas, underwear, and thick wool socks. Places like Maison de Guérison were always cold. She figured she could just duplicate those items if need be, but during the day and to all sessions she would be wearing hospital-issued scrubs, so there was no real need to pack a lot in her suitcase. Besides, that’s what she had her beaded bag for. 

She did, however, pack a pink tea dress and matching heels to wear when she came home. She also packed her pillow, which had even come with her on The Hunt as well as a favorite throw and a couple of books. One suitcase plus one toiletries bag and she was ready for the next day. Deciding To disguise the beaded bag as a coin purse, she shrunk it down and stucksome fabric to the inside to hide the extension charm, just in case the hospital staff decided to look.

Puttering around her house to kill time, she cleaned it thoroughly and caught up on any correspondence before she left. The day seemed to drag on forever even with all of the busy-work she found. That night she proved unable to banish a certain wizard from her thoughts, this time imagining him pressed tightly against her from behind, holding the pink vibrator against her clit as he slammed into her. Her hands were bound and tied to the bed frame by green satin sashes. She came harder than she had in months and was disoriented afterwards.

She’d never really been into the idea of bondage. The thought of being at the mercy of someone at this point was disconcerting, and it made her slightly queasy if she lingered on it. She knew that in the practice of BDSM, the submissive was ultimately in control of what happened, but that required trust which she currently had in short supply. Still, that didn’t stop her brain from conjuring wicked scenarios in her dreams now that the doorway to those ideas had been blasted open.

One, in particular, had embedded itself in her mind. Her hands bound above her head again with green satin sashes, and her calves were pulled up against the backs of her thighs and similarly bound with the same satin material. The ends trailed to the bed rails where it forced her legs to stay spread wide, her knees forced to either side of her torso. She was plugged and her favorite pink vibrator pressed against her clit, held there by magic. Her head thrashed side to side as a deep voice coached her, commanding her not to come, to be a good girl. Didn’t she want to be his good girl? 

Dream Hermione whimpered and nodded fervently. Finally, Draco made his appearance and sat on the edge of the bed, languidly dragging his fingertips along her heated flesh, deliciously tormenting her nipples. When he’d worked her to a fevered pitch, keening and begging to come, he shed his clothes and removed the vibrator right before she reached the point of no return. From there, he balanced on his knees at the end of the bed, pulling a small paddle from between the sheets. His fingers tenderly traced along her upper thighs and round bum before he delivered the first blow. She yelped and jerked, not expecting it. “Count, Hermione,” he demanded. He delivered a firm paddling, turning her flesh bright red in stinging pain, tears leaking from her eyes as she obediently counted. When he finished, he offered her the paddle to worship with kisses. She thanked him afterward as he put it aside.

He finally settled himself between her legs and kissed the red welts reverently, before moving up her body and avoided her clit all together. He nipped and licked up her torso and chest, pausing to roughly tease her nipples with his teeth. He paid special attention to her neck, making her squirm against him. He landed a solid, unexpected slap to her already reddened bum at her movement. Stilling immediately, she whimpered quietly until he had his fill. He finally claimed her mouth as he lined up and slid into her. He fucked her mercilessly as she begged him over and over to be allowed to come. She was so close when he finally lost his punishing rhythm, his hips stuttering as he went rigid and emptied himself inside of her. He pulled her close and kissed her forehead as she whispered her thanks against his collarbones.

“You took your punishment well. What did you learn?”

“Only good girls get orgasms.”

“ _ That’s _ my good girl.”

Hermione shot up in bed, her heart hammering in her chest and hands scrambling for her nightstand. She didn’t even bother shucking her ruined underwear entirely, merely shoving them halfway down her thighs before jamming the vibe between her slick lips to rest against her clit, frantically clicking it on. One hand pinched and twisted a nipple as her mind replayed the lifelike dream. Moments later she was screaming into her pillow again as her body shook with the force of her orgasm while it thundered through her.

She clicked her toy off with weak fingers as she gasped for breath. Spelling everything clean  _ again _ with shaky hands, she flopped against her pillow. She couldn’t be bothered to wonder what the fuck  _ that  _ was about before she was sound asleep again. Merely two hours later, she woke up before her alarm sounded, thankful for a lack of further dreams. 

A bath was in order, and she took her time filling the deep tub with scalding hot water, bubbles, and scented oils. She sat with all the lights off, allowing the rising sun to light the room naturally as she soaked and let her muscles relax. Her mind wandered back to the bizarreness of last night. She’d never been into the idea of orgasm denial before and in the light of day, it wasn’t particularly appealing. In the context of the dream, though, it was erotic, and she reluctantly resolved to explore the idea later. It would be her luck to become interested in a specific kink when she wouldn’t be able to fulfill it in a satisfying manner until she had an equally interested partner.

The other thing she could concede in the privacy of her mind was that maybe she didn’t completely know what she was interested in sexually, and she committed to the idea of exploring when she got back from France. She’d have to visit a sex shop with a more open mind than the singular goal of acquiring the little pink vibe and leaving as quickly as possible.

By the time the water had turned tepid, the sun was higher in the sky and she felt better with a settled mind. An alarm sounded and she hauled herself from the tub, drying quickly. She pulled on a knee-length cream and floral sundress, kitten heels, and the Aglaophotis pin. She’d worn it every time they’d met up since he’d given it to her. She shrank her suitcase and toiletry bags, stashing them in her pocket. Lastly, she used the charm Malfoy had taught her. She realized then just how much she’d missed sleeveless and short sleeve clothes since he’d shown it to her.

She thought of the tea shop and imagined the alley behind it. Concentrating, she turned on her heel with a small crack and stumbled on the uneven cobblestones as she landed. The firm, warm hands from her dreams caught her around the waist, righting her and making sure she was stable. After a moment Draco let go and slipped them back into his trouser pockets. She could feel his eyes as they traveled over her, making sure she was physically unhurt like usual. She heard the miniscule hitch in his breath but couldn’t tell what it was about.

“Thank you,” she said, cheeks pink and eyes downcast momentarily.

He waited until she met his gaze again and merely nodded. “Ready to go to France?” 

She nodded, and he opened his hand, extending it. As their hands met, that newly familiar calm cascaded over her for only a moment before they were sucked into the void and deposited in a small park.

Hermione looked around the quiet area. “Where are we?”

He let go of her hand to grasp her shoulders and spin her around.

Above the trees, she could see the top of the Eiffel Tower. That meant they must be across the river, close to the Trocadero Gardens.

“Hungry?”

She nodded, pulling her eyes away from what she could see of the magnificent structure as he laced their fingers back together and led her out of the park.

A quiet, leisurely, ten-minute walk later and they were sat in Le Scheffer. It was a quaint red-fronted restaurant with small tables topped with red and white checkered tablecloths. The place was nearly full, despite having just opened for the day. They each perused the menu after Draco ensured she was able to navigate the French. She’d narrowed her eyes at him menacingly before he’d held his hands up in mock surrender.

The waiter came, left, and eventually returned with duck confit and roasted potatoes for Draco, and lamb chops with a cognac Dijon cream sauce and a side of potatoes dauphinoise for Hermione.

Draco ate while she picked at her potatoes. Now that they were about half an hour out from their check-in time, she was nervous. She’d filled the weekend with activities to keep from obsessing over the imminent moment she handed over control of her well-being to a group of professionals she’d never met before and largely did not speak the same language as, medical jargon notwithstanding. The tension she got whenever she found herself surrounded by a crowd was creeping in. Her stomach coiled uncomfortably as sweat beaded at the nape of her neck, and the desire to feel her wand in her grasp was overwhelming, yet she kept her focus on keeping ahold of her fork instead.

“Are you not hungry?” Draco’s voice filtered in, breaking her out of her reverie.

The potatoes were all but macerated and the lamb remained untouched.

She took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “I’m just nervous, I suppose. I’ve been treated for serious things before.” Her mind flew to Dolohov cursing her in the Department of Mysteries. “But nothing like this. This sort of treatment strips you bare and makes you so—”

“Vulnerable,” he said, voice low. Her eyes locked on his, finding the silent promise she would not be alone in it; he would be there with her. He wouldn’t leave her in that unfamiliar place by herself.

“I hate it, so much. Detest it, despise it. If I could make it where I would never feel that way again, I’d do it in an instant,” she breathed.

His hand slid across the tiny table, wrapping around her smaller one. Her shoulders relaxed down from around her ears and she took a deep cleansing breath in, reveling in how her system calmed almost instantly at his touch. The wriggling mass of snakes in the pit of her stomach settled to the point where her lunch seemed appealing again.

“It will be alright.” It sounded so much like a promise.

How many times had Harry, Ron, Remus, Mrs. Weasley, and countless others said that? How many times had they turned out to be wrong? Nearly all of them. But when Draco said it, with his fingers gently clasped around her knuckles, she could do nothing _ but  _ believe him. She couldn’t shake the sensation he was right. Not that things wouldn’t try to go wrong, but because he wouldn’t allow them to. And was that not a bizarre concept in and of itself? Especially since while in Hogwarts nearly every plot Draco had tried to pull off had gone afoul in some way or another with the exception of his ‘Potter Stinks’ badges. Yet here she was, placing her rare trust in him that he was right.

Instead of trying to reply, she just squeezed his fingers earnestly and began to actually eat, using magic to subtly cut her meat instead of letting him go.

They finished their meals in comfortable silence, sharing a miniature clafoutis for dessert. It was sweet but not overly so, and the dark cherries added lovely bursts of flavor.

Then something happened that had yet to despite all of their numerous lunches they’d spent together.

The check arrived.

Had Hermione been a smidge quicker, or had Draco not been so deft from his time playing sports and dueling, she might have gotten it. Close enough to feel the paper slide from underneath her fingers as he plucked it from the checked cloth. She had half a mind to round the slight piece of furniture and take it from him bodily if he hadn’t already shot to his feet to go take care of it. Not for the first time, she wondered if reading her mind was one of his abilities or if her thoughts were simply obvious. The exercise of smoothing her expression gave her the answer.

He came strolling back, stopping next to her and offering his arm. “Shall we?”

She got up and took the proffered arm, allowing him to lead her back into the sunshine.

Draco led her around the corner to something somewhat familiar. St. Mungo’s used a false shop front, and apparently so did Maison de Guérison in the form of a derelict looking laundromat at 21 Rue Pétrarque, if the peeling address above the door was to be believed. He opened the door, holding it for her as the bells jangled merrily. Hermione imagined that they were a security measure in the guise of a friendly alert. Draco followed her inside and proceeded to count the number of dryer units along the left wall until he came to the seventh set. As he opened the door of the top unit, the fabric of reality rippled and it was as if he were pulling back a hidden curtain, holding it open for her to walk through.

She walked through and found herself in a brightly lit waiting room, facing over a dozen doors. The signs over the top of them were in French. She could usually decipher a menu, but this was a bit harder, and she wasn’t certain they would react well to any sort of attempted charmwork.

“This way,” Draco muttered. His hand rested on her back as he led her to the door on the far left. This led into a cozy, sedate room lit with lamps and furnished with low, leather furniture. She suspected it was to set a calming scene for their mental health division, but the only thing that could calm her now was the man on her right.

A man in a black suit came out to meet them before they could sit. He initially started speaking in rapid French but at her blank look, he stopped, apologized, and swapped to perfect English. After they handed over their completed information packets and identifications, he led them down a long corridor until he reached the door at the very end. It opened to a small common room and five other doors.

“It’s just the two of you, so pick whichever bedrooms you like. A nurse will be by to inspect your belongings, as outlined in the paperwork, just to make sure everything is in accordance with the rules. We allow you to keep your wands unless you give us a reason to take them,” he said.

Her entire frame relaxed at the news her wand would remain in her possession. Otherwise, they’d probably have to put a suppression band on her the way Azkaban did with their prisoners.

Hermione examined the four dim rooms and selected the one on the left that had a heavily curtained window. While she didn’t hear him move, she could sense Draco had picked one as well and was likely going to spread his own things out for inspection like she was.

The room was a soothing pale blue with cream curtains, a simple cream wrought iron bed, and a plain desk with its matching chair. Before she could go see what Draco’s looked like, the nurse came in and poked around methodically through each bag, going so far as to have Hermione turn out her pockets. The nurse cast a simple spell over everything to ensure a standard of cleanliness was maintained and then turned back to the door. When the woman left and headed across the common room, she took the time to put away her clothes and set about making the room feel a bit more like home.

When the outer door clicked shut, she ventured across to Draco’s room and leaned against the doorway. His was seafoam green with furniture much the same as her own. His blanket was gray and looked more suited to wrapping up in on a winter’s day. The pillow looked near to bursting with feathers and she wondered how many geese had been plucked to fill it.

Draco was peeking out the curtain, examining their surroundings.

“How, exactly, did you get it to where it would only be the two of us in this suite?” she asked.

Gray eyes drifted towards her, his head turning at a sloth’s pace until he was watching her from the corner of his eye. It crinkled ever so slightly, and she knew he was smirking.

“It helps that Armand Malfoy’s father, Gruiscard, helped fund the building of this place back before Armand left to come to England with William the Conqueror. It’s also helpful that Grandfather Abraxas gave heavily to the reconstruction efforts after the first and second World Wars. Nazi wizards were a thing, as I’m sure you know.” He finally dropped the curtain to face her properly, his hands in his pockets and looking for all the world like he was anywhere except the mental wing of a hospital.

“Vaguely. I haven’t had much time to devote to it. Binns sort of left that bit out of his lectures with the exception of a brief mention. That was towards the end of Sixth Year though and I was busy preparing for what was coming,” she said, loosely crossing her arms under her breasts.

“I can’t say I recall much from that class during Sixth Year either. I was busy in other ways,” he trailed off uncomfortably as his gaze drifted to the desk.

He was fighting the desire to clench his left hand but she could only tell because of the rigid way he held himself.

“I must do some reading on it sometime. There are Muggles who practically make a pastime of studying wars, and I imagine there are wizards who have the same fascination with wizarding history,” she moved on, refusing to allow an awkward silence from herself.

“I’ll bring you some books; between my library and the one at the Manor, I’m sure you’ll have quite the selection,” he offered. His face and posture had relaxed again.

“You don’t live at the Manor anymore?” Her brow furrowed.

“I was allowed a change in residence during my house arrest.”

She didn’t need to ask why. She could only imagine what he’d seen there and what they’d forced him to participate in. The dark magic Voldemort had favored steeping himself in would have permeated the place, forever ruining Draco’s childhood home.

“I have a hard time imagining you in a flat.” 

It was a trifle awkward, both of them standing in his room. She turned back to the common room and strode to one of the couches, sitting on one end and tucking her feet beneath her.

He followed and took a spot on the opposite couch, crossing his leg at the knee. She eyed the shoes that weren’t quite as pointy as the pair he’d worn to the gala.

“Of course not. I bought an estate once belonging to the Crouch family. All I had to pay was the back taxes and it was mine. Ministry had been trying to unload it for a few years, but there were no takers for a place the Dark Lord had been known to live. Voldemort wasn’t there long enough to leave anything some well paid Clerics couldn’t clear out, fortunately.”

They talked about the orchard that the estate was known for and its other aspects until a knock interrupted them. A nurse stuck his head in and informed Hermione she was due for an appointment in a few minutes, and he would wait for her in the hall.

She shot to her feet and slid her shoes back on, making to leave until her hand was grasping the knob. She couldn’t help but stop to peek back over her shoulder where Draco was still sitting, watching her. Her heart thundered in her chest until he spoke.

“I’ll be right here, waiting for you to get back.”

“Promise?”

“I swear it.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> See you next Saturday! <3


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Huge thanks to my Alpha/Betas NuclearNik and Monica03, without them I would be a mess and this story would be a disaster. Also a huge thanks to my Omega (pre-reader) MarshmallowMcGonagall! 
> 
> To everyone who reads, subscribes, bookmarks, comments/reviews, follows, reblogs, likes, etc: I appreciate you all SO VERY MUCH. With the length of my chapters and the editing process, it leaves little time to come back and interact. I promise though, all of it makes me go starry eyed and flail about every single time.
> 
> Disclaimer: I own nothing.

_ Two weeks later _

Hermione sat across from Draco in Le Gabriel, an upscale fine dining establishment in the La Réserve Hotel and Spa. She felt terribly out of place, but the feel of his fingertips overlapping hers was calming. She didn’t know how exactly to feel about that little quirk still being present. She couldn’t say she disliked it, however.

She’d almost expected Draco to up and disappear on her after their treatment was complete, now that their mutual suffering was a thing of the past. Well, mostly… 

The doctors informed them both they had to do exposure therapy every so often or they would regress back to their past states. The recommended was twice a week and the bare minimum was once a week. She supposed, however, the friendship they’d built so far over the course of a multitude of lunch dates wasn’t one of convenience. He was there in another of his favored three-piece suits, this one a lighter gray with a crisp white shirt, silver cufflinks, and a laurel-green tie, behaving as if there were nowhere else in the world he should be.

She was in the very first gala dress Ginny had bought her. It was a simple, sleeveless, off-the-shoulder black gown with a boatneck neckline. Simple pearls adorned her left wrist and ears. She’d guessed when Draco said he wanted to have dinner after their release he’d meant somewhere outrageously expensive and thus requiring one of her better gowns, and as usual, she was correct.

The tiniest sigh escaped her before she clamped her lips firmly together. Menus at bistros and simpler restaurants were manageable, but this was something else entirely and she was struggling. A translation charm would be apt in this case but she’d never done one wandlessly and wasn’t too eager to try one out on a menu she was going to have to hand back over soon.

“You trust me, right?” She looked up to find her companion watching her, likely since the sigh had escaped her.

Strangely enough, she did. “Yes.”

“Allow me order for you?" he requested. I’ve been here before with Mother, more than a few times.” There was a sort of intimacy to it, letting him select her food, not to mention the trust aspect. She barely let Ron or Harry order her a drink in advance at the pub let alone a food selection, but it was yet another of those things that felt right to allow him to do. So, she acquiesced with a nod, closing and laying her menu down on the table.

He studied the menu a bit longer before he laid his down as well. Moments later their waiter appeared.

She caught snippets as he spoke in rapid, smooth French, and she couldn’t stop herself from watching his mouth as he formed words such as  _ caviar, chevreuil, poireau, and ris de veau. Le Chocolat _ was an easy enough one she’d be able to recognize anywhere, and she felt comforted if nothing else, there would be chocolate of some sort for dessert.

After their waiter left again, she took a sip of her wine and considered things. While they weren’t against the wall, as usual, they also weren’t in the center of the room. They both had their backs open to others and were both at ease. Gone was the twisting stomach, the sweat that prickled at the back of her neck, the racing mind, the need to catalog everyone there, to scan the room every few minutes, and the impulse to have her wand in hand every single minute. The only thing that had ever dampened any of it had been Draco’s touch. She’d have flipped in the packed bistro they’d eaten at before they’d checked in if it hadn’t been for him holding her hand.

Now that they had received treatment and had left to go back into the world, she felt like someone had pulled something from her in threads, so gently and gradually she didn’t feel the pain of the hole it had left behind; there was only the relief from the festering pus having finally drained, and the hole gently mending—something they both had to be very careful with.

She thought over the two long weeks they’d submitted themselves to. It had been odd, going to sessions intermittently throughout the day when she was used to not seeing or speaking to another person for days at a time. Some would be discussions with a therapist, others were like hypnotism—the closest thing she could think to compare them with—and others still had been working through exposure via magicked crowds. They were all an illusion; they told her so after her very last one, but it was the only way they had of gauging progress. It had been the safest method, that way if she cursed someone it wouldn’t have done any real damage. Then there had been the sleep therapies, where therapists would enter her mind as she slept via Legilimency. They were never there when she went to sleep or when she awoke, but sometime towards their first weekend, she began to feel ever so slightly better upon waking, up until this morning when she noticed how much more well rested she’d become overall.

The first session had been the longest, and also the worst. She’d submitted to taking Veritaserum. Due to the time constraints, they considered it a necessary step for her to be fully honest and speak in her own words the truth of everything that had happened. So she drank the tea they gave her and answered every question, not even attempting to resist the effects as the tale spilled from her lips in detail from start to finish, and then answered probing questions for the better part of five hours. Tears had been plentiful and there were several times her voice trembled and shook, but not once had she stopped. Not even after the first half hour when the dose they’d given her had worn off. It had been enough to bolster her and give her the strength to keep going and empty in confidence everything she could think of that had happened during that time in her life. The moments of soaring hope, of crushing despair, of vulnerability as the Horcrux whispered directly to her soul, the terror at the very real possibility of dying with Bellatrix’s face being the last thing she saw, or worse, the tortured and horrified visage of Draco Malfoy who had been able to do nothing to help her. She’d taken a long bath after that session, running the water into the large tub as hot as it would get and not bothering with the faucet for cold water.

The dark circles under both Draco’s eyes and her own had gotten better, his more quickly than hers. He seemed overall healthier as the days progressed. She didn’t think it was because he was less traumatized than she, so all she could chalk it up to was that whatever treatment regimen they’d concocted for him was working marvelously, of which Hermione was glad.

It’d been almost domestic, living in such close quarters with him. Every morning she would come out to their common room to find him reading about some subject or another, often fiction much to her surprise. His nonfiction selections of old diaries were just as surprising. Toast and tea were typical breakfast fare. Anything heavier and she’d suspected it’d probably have made a reappearance during some of the more grueling conversations. They saw little of each other throughout the day, each coming and going for some treatment or session. It was the evenings, as they lay on their respective couches, that were what got her through. Regardless of the hardness or the pain endured during the day, the evenings spent debating, conversing, and even simply reading or lying quietly in contemplation were a soothing balm that smoothed out any jagged edges or rough patches incurred.

It reminded her of simpler times back in Hogwarts when she was able to relax and  _ be _ for even one evening. No frantic studying, no worrying about Death Eaters or Voldemort, not concerned about any impending events like the Tournament or even Quidditch. Just lying on the couch as she watched Harry and Ron play wizard’s chess on the floor before the fire and gloriously existing.

Even with what she relived during the day, the night times were always the most treacherous. She learned the hard way the rooms weren’t always amenable to holding on a silencing charm. The first time she discovered this was when Malfoy had to shake her awake, which had set off the instinctive fight-or-flight reaction in her she’d not yet been able to shake. She’d had him pinned to the bed and incapacitated before she was fully awake. When she’d come to, however, she was beyond horrified. She’d let him go immediately and flung herself from the bed, backing tightly into a corner as tears filled her eyes. It was a thousand wonders she hadn’t jammed her wand to his neck, but that had been little comfort to her at the time.

Draco, however, had risen from the bed at a snail’s pace, hands in the air to show her he was unarmed and meant her no harm. It had taken some coaxing, cajoling, and physical dragging, but in the end, Hermione had ended up on his couch, tucked against his side as they watched conjured fire dance in a row of jars. Sleep claimed her again at some point as soft fingertips brushed rhythmically up and down her arm. The next morning found her back in her own bed as if she’d never left it. There was no evidence of jars on the table, and Draco was in his normal spot. Neither one ever once mentioned  _ The Incident _ .

They’d discussed her night the next day in therapy. Night terrors, they said, were common and stronger for people who bore severe Dark curse damage or for those who had cursed Dark objects used on them. The evil lingering there in the wounds and in the system leached into the mind at its most vulnerable time. It was the hardest thing to get over, typically, due to the lingering effects coupled with the mental injury incurred. For some people it took years, for others it never fully went away.

The thought had plagued Hermione and made something inside her shrivel. Would sharing a bed never be feasible due to her being dangerous? The notion of hypothetical children— which she doubted she’d be able to have in the first place thanks to Dolohov’s curse—in danger by the very nature of needing her in the middle of the night left her cold. If she was honest, it also left her with an irrational nugget of jealousy toward the hypothetical father and children. It would always be him they turned to in the middle of the night for cuddles after bad dreams or when they weren't feeling well if she couldn’t get better. It was yet another thing she was going to have to work on.

Breaking her out of her reverie, the waiter set a plate in front of her,, and it looked more like art than food. Draco’s plate was just as beautiful, she discovered when she’d glanced over. Her eyes met his, and it was obvious he’d been watching her for some time. Blood rushed to her cheeks and she could have sworn the corner of his mouth curled for an instant, but she blinked and it was gone, leaving her to wonder so many things.

“Where did you go?”

“What?”

“You’ve been staring at the table so hard I thought it was going to catch on fire for a bit.” He smirked at her.

She realized what he meant; she’d wandered off mentally.

“Just thinking over the last couple of weeks,” she confessed.

“How do you feel about it now that we’re on the other side?”

“Admittedly better than I anticipated. I still feel a—” She squinted in thought as she searched for the word. “A shadow of what was there before, but it doesn’t feel all encompassing. It’s merely a wrinkle of unease rather than my system overloading me and demanding action. I don’t feel the overwhelming need to have my wand in hand or to catalog constantly every single person or even care that much who may or may not be present in the room.”

He picked up his fork and sliced into the artwork, tasting and savoring it while he listened to her talk. She had an irrational moment where her eyes had dropped to his mouth for an instant before returning to his eyes. She excused it as temporary insanity as she picked up her fork and did the same, letting the flavors of leek, squid, and the spiciness of the curry with an undercurrent of anise color her palate. The flavors and textures melded beautifully on her tongue as she followed Draco’s lead in savoring each taste, each bite, until the small plate was empty. 

“I’m glad.” It was obvious that he meant it. It still caught her off guard at how odd she found the situation between them. If someone had told her she’d be here in Paris at one of the best restaurants in the city and having a lovely time with Draco Malfoy, she’d have checked them for curse damage and then laughed herself sick over it.

When the plates were whisked away, she let her eyes rake over his face in gradual increments.

He looked so much healthier than he had in probably a long time. Ever since getting reacquainted with him at the gala months ago he looked like he’d slowly yet steadily been overcoming some serious form of cancer or other illness. Now he looked the picture of health.

“How do  _ you _ feel?”

“Better than I have in years,” he admitted in a low voice. “Like something dark inside me has finally been cleansed, washed away.”

It made her feel lighter to know that it had worked for both of them, that the time hadn’t been a waste for either one. They could finally start moving  _ on _ with their lives even though she still had other obstacles to overcome. She’d conquered the biggest part, the worst that had kept her from coping with any of the others.

“I’m glad. Maybe we stop hiding out at parties and actually attend them,” she said with a grin.

“I hid at parties well before this mess, but maybe now they won’t be so bad.” His eyes bore into hers, and she felt pinned in place. The moment was broken by the arrival of their next course.

Her thoughts had a heyday with that comment. Had he meant in general or had he meant it in the way that she would be present and therefore make it enjoyable? Did he mean that he wanted them to interact at these events and have a good time together, or maybe even attend together? Did she want to?

She bit the corner of her lip at the train of questions barreling through her mind.

That last question was stupid at this point, she was able to admit to herself. The idea of attending the galas with him was the only thing that made the idea tolerable at all. The thought of standing around in evening wear with Harry, Ginny, Ron, and Pansy all evening was bearable enough, but to be honest not all that appealing. After attending one gala with him, she now wanted to accompany him to more if she was going to have to show her face at them. 

For an instant he looked like he wanted to free her lip from its pointy confines, but then he picked up his fork again. This dish was no different than the last in terms of presentation and it was a shame to eat it, much the same as his sweetbreads dish. She took in a silent breath and was able to quickly identify the meat. They’d had venison once during The Hunt, but she doubted it tasted anything like this would. This meat was beautifully roasted, not pitifully cooked in an old camp pan. It had been the only unforgivable she’d cast, wanting to take the life as painlessly as possible.

“Do you not like venison?” His concerned voice broke into her thoughts again.

“No, I do. I was just thinking of the last time I’d had it...” she trailed off, returning her eyes to her plate as she sliced off a delicate bite.

She ran it through the sauce and brought it to her mouth. Her eyes fell closed as she slid the meat from the tines and let it rest upon her tongue to savor the flavors. The meat when they'd been on the run had been gamey and bland from the lack of seasoning aside from what meager salt they’d had left, but this was magnificent; it was all she could do not to moan.

His expression clearly said that he knew exactly how much she was enjoying it as he went back to his own dinner, pleased yet probably secretly relieved that he had not chosen wrong yet again.

It was quiet for a few moments before he spoke again.

“Now that both of our treatments have proven effective, I was wondering if you’d attend the World Cup with me.”

She was quiet for a minute while she thought about it, taking the time to savor the bite of cabbage and venison.

“I’ll have to make an appearance in Ron and Harry’s box at least once but, honestly, if I were to go I’d prefer to go with you, I think. You seem to prefer a quieter atmosphere and knowing that lot they’ll be overflowing with the Weasley family and a few other friends. In other words, it will be exceedingly raucous,” she said.

He cocked a brow. “I thought that was what defined Gryffindor gatherings.”

Her lips quirked into a grin. “After being alone for so long I don’t think it would turn out well. Surely you can’t fault me for preferring your company.”

“How do you know I’m not up for a louder party atmosphere? Sporting events usually  _ are _ like that after all,” he teased.

“Oh please, I saw you shooting dirty looks at Harry and Ron when we were playing croquet and they were being excessively loud. If I had to guess, you’d have hexed them both silent if Ron hadn’t stormed off”

“Croquet is not Quidditch. It’s a relaxing lawn game like golf,” he sniffed.

She goggled at him. “You play golf?”

“I thought you didn’t know other wizarding games.”

“Loads of Muggles play golf, Draco. I know where over a dozen courses are around London alone,” she said, brows furrowed over how he didn’t know this. Surely there were  _ some _ students that played outside of pure-blood families.

They studied each other and wondered just how much their worlds overlapped without their knowing.

“Do you play?”

“Of course not. My parents used to. My father considered it exercise.” She rolled her eyes at the notion that going to the course on Saturdays for a casual round was anything close to actual exercise.

“I suppose it could be if you went often enough.” He shrugged.

“Maybe a few times a week or playing the course more than once in a day, but then it stops being a leisurely pursuit which is the whole reason they went since they were dentists.”

“What would you suggest then, if not golfing?”

“Well, my mother did something she called Jazzercize.” She pursed her lips to keep from chuckling.

His brows furrowed.

“It’s a form of aerobics she did at home to a tape.” At his further confusion she sighed. “I’ll show you sometime, it’d be easier than trying to explain. Anyway, I'd have been satisfied if they'd had just taken walks around the park they lived next to or rode a bicycle or literally anything.” She cut another delicate bite of venison and cabbage, focusing on her plate as she spoke.

She expected questions or speculation from him but he must have shoved away his curiosity as he ate the last bites of his dinner.

“Do you have any plans now that you’re practically free again? Any plans of going into the Ministry to apply for a job early tomorrow morning?”

She studied him, noting the set of his eyebrows and the lightness of his eyes as she speculated how long he’d been thinking about this particular question. “I’m not sure. Sometimes I think going inside the beast isn’t the way to go to affect the changes I want. Honestly until I’ve decided on the most effective route I’d thought about partnering with Neville in breeding new plants. I’ve the one small greenhouse in the back but it would be beyond simple to expand the thing and even make duplicates. I own more property than what I have warded, so I’d have to expand those too. I also considered applying as a potions assistant to Mr. Dervish in the interim. I’m keeping my options open I suppose. Maybe tomorrow I’ll go have a look at the job boards after I see what’s available in the Daily Prophet.”

“Dervish is an alchemist, so that should be interesting for you for a while if you decide on that. I honestly thought you might join Potter as an Auror.” He’d relaxed in his chair, hands folded together on his thigh.

“I had enough of chasing the bad guys with Harry during school. I’d rather do something intellectually challenging and moderately safe for a change,” she said.

“I’ll keep an ear out for anything I may think would interest you then.”

She nodded in thanks as dessert was set before them.

It looked like a giant, golden, geometric nugget settled in a shallow pool of chocolate sauce.

She broke through the painted gold leaf and chocolate shell to find a delicate chocolate mousse ice cream inside. It was a luscious dessert, the perfect end to a perfect meal.

They secretly watched one another through stolen glances as each devoured their confections. When they were through, Draco rounded the table and offered her his arm, which she took, allowing him to lead her back outside into the streets of Paris.

He directed them through a discreet doorway which had them exiting from a similar doorway under the Pont D’lena. When they reached the top of the stairs, they both turned and looked at the lights of the Eiffel Tower, silently marveling at it.

“I often wondered if I’d live to see this again,” she said, her voice nearly disappearing on the breeze.

“I’m glad you did.” His free hand covered her small one where it rested on his forearm.

It felt like a tremor rippled through his fingers before he slid them away and into the pocket of his trousers.

She met his eyes and stared openly for a few moments before he turned and led them back across the Seine to the park where they’d originally arrived.

“Ready to go back?”

“It would be nice to spend a few extra days in anonymity in Paris. If we don’t turn back up when we’re supposed to Harry would probably come charging across the Channel, half-cocked with some hairbrained plan that, ultimately, I’d have to rescue  _ him _ from.” The idea of spending a few days of leisure with the intriguing wizard was appealing, and she wondered when she’d stop being surprised by the ever-increasing instances of enjoying his presence.

“It’s not like we can’t come back, you know. Just say the word and I’ll pick up the Portkey permanently in Malfoy possession and we can have lunch here every Wednesday if you’d like.” He shot a smirk at her.

“How did you end up with a permanent Portkey? That doesn’t sound like something the Ministry would be very approving of.”

“Armand,” he said simply.

She was amazed the government hadn’t repossessed the item when they’d claimed their reparations settlement. She also wondered if it was even on record anymore as existing or if perhaps it did exist but the file was somewhere buried in the bowels of the Ministry. Perhaps it was simply one of those untouchable things that seemed to exist in the Wizarding World.

“Hold tight,” he said before clenching something in his palm.

The jerk behind her navel was as sudden and unpleasant as it always was. Her heels landing on the uneven cobblestones of the quiet alley where they’d departed sent her tumbling before a strong arm slithered around her waist and yanked her back into a firm chest. She grasped his arm with both hands until she was sure she was steady. She stiffened when she realized exactly how closely she was pressed against him. The arm removed itself and the man it belonged to moved back alongside her as if nothing had happened.

She toyed with her fingers as she peeked over at him in the dimly lit street. She mused at how even in the dark, any bit of light clung to the fairness of his skin and hair, giving him an almost ethereal look.

“Where would you like to meet to go to the Cup?” he asked, breaking the tense silence.

“You could come pick me up, if you want to. I think it’s high time we connected our Floos. If that’s alright with you that is.” Her face heated when she realized how assumptious she sounded.

One side of his mouth hitched up. “I’ll take care of it in the morning. I have an appointment to see to at the Ministry anyway.”

He placed a hand on her lower back and began to guide her towards the Apparition point.

Once they reached the lamppost that he usually stopped at, he slid his hands in his pockets. “The game starts at eight with a pre-show at seven. Would five be alright?”

She rolled it around in her thoughts, not wanting to seem overeager to see him again.

“Five would be fine.” She turned to face him fully, clasping her hands together in front of her. “I can’t begin to express my thanks to you for the gift of the past two weeks. It was grueling, facing and dealing with the root of the issue, but I don’t know what I’d have done without you there at the end of every hard day. I feel like I can actually start living now.”

She took a deep breath and before she could lose her nerve she darted forward, hugging him tightly around the middle. She hadn’t anticipated the ultimate peace and calm that still so powerfully washed over her in a flood. Shouldn’t that have gone away or at least dulled?

He stiffened for a moment, then relaxed as he slowly slid his arms around her shoulders, fingertips brushing beneath her hair. “You shouldn’t thank me. It was people like me that caused you to be in that situation,” he mumbled into her hair, and she merely squeezed him harder in disagreement. Maybe that could be said for the bigot he’d once been, but clearly not the man he’d turned into.

When she released him moments later, she had to force herself. As the feeling drained away, a flush overcame her again and she gave him a small wave, turning and speeding towards the point.

“See you soon!” she called over her shoulder.

The visage of him looking just a bit ruffled with the tiniest quirk of his lips as he leaned against the lamppost stayed with her as she spun into nothingness and reappeared on her front porch. The charm on her door recognized her magical signature and unlocked itself as she turned the knob.

_ It was just a hug, you’ve given thousands of them to Ron and Harry over the years.  _

Everything was the same as she’d left it of course, but it was habit to cast revealing and detection charms, especially after being gone for so long. Moody’s voice sounded in her head.  _ Constant vigilance. _

Satisfied that there was nothing, she went about unpacking and putting away everything she’d taken on her trip.

Once her clothes had been set to washing, the grocery list was written, and everything else had been put away, she found the silence of the house deafening.

It had only been two weeks, yet in that time she’d become accustomed to sharing evenings, breakfasts, dinners, conversations, and heated debates with the man she’d just left in Diagon Alley. The house that had before been a haven now felt like a partially empty place. As if it was missing something essential in the now too-quiet atmosphere.

Hermione huffed at her ridiculous thoughts and hauled herself from the sofa, stomping through the house to the loo. It had only been two weeks, so there was no reason at all to feel this way. She filled the tub with steaming water and dumped in a double handful of scented salts. While the tub filled, she collected a glass of wine and the tiny wireless she’d picked up to replace the old bulky one the house had come with.

The lights flickered off, leaving only the distant glow from the living room lamps. The wave of her wand sent over a dozen candles flickering to life. The wireless turned itself on low, and towels crawled themselves out of the cabinets, one folding itself and coming to rest on the back of the tub. Wine in hand, she sank into the steaming water that smelled vaguely of lavender and honeysuckle. Leaning her back against the rolled towel, she took a small sip of wine and focused on forcing her muscles to relax. Her mind emptied with some effort and for the better part of forty-five minutes, Hermione just existed between sips of Riesling.

When the water was tepid and gooseflesh erupted along her body, it was time for bed.

She didn’t bother with clothes after she dried off. She merely drained the rest of her refilled glass, spelled the lights off, and slipped between the sheets, snuggling into her pillows.

Throughout her bath, she’d refused to think of the toned form she’d clung to earlier, of the long, thin fingers as he waved them through the air in gesticulation amidst one of their heated debates, of the lips that tended to curl up at just one side, or of the expressive eyes that gave her clues as to where his thoughts may lie. In dreams she didn’t have the same sort of control.

When her brain was allowed free reign after she dropped off into dreams, her imagination ran rampant. Instead of him trying to wake her from a night terror, he simply woke her by pressing her into the bed with his larger, stronger form, sliding her nightgown up and off with those long fingers, and exploring her flesh with that mouth of his as it whispered filthy nothings against her skin. When he buried his face between her thighs, she woke abruptly and was once again reaching for the pink vibrator in her nightstand. Slightly wine drunk, primed from the dream and armed with many vivid imaginings, it took her only minutes to come undone, calling his name into the dark. It had been two long, long weeks since her last release, so it wasn’t exactly surprising that she’d come so hard or so quickly.

As she spelled everything clean and flopped back into her pillows again, she swore that it was the last time she would fantasize about him as she sought her release and certainly the last time his name rolled off her tongue. It was wrong to mentally use him as she was currently. Friends, they were  _ friends, _ she sternly reminded herself as she snuggled bonelessly back into her bedding, sinking into a blessedly dreamless sleep.

Her mind, once her greatest ally, was now proving itself to be a pest as it insisted on fantasizing about the man that only wanted to be her friend. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> See you next Saturday! <3


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Huge thanks to my Alpha/Betas NuclearNik and Monica03, without them I would be a mess and this story would be a disaster. Also a huge thanks to my Omega (pre-reader) MarshmallowMcGonagall!
> 
> To everyone who reads, subscribes, bookmarks, comments/reviews, follows, reblogs, likes, etc: I appreciate you all SO VERY MUCH. With the length of my chapters and the editing process, it leaves little time to come back and interact (I'll still try, however!). I promise though, all of it makes me go starry eyed and flail about every single time.
> 
> Disclaimer: I own nothing.

Everything Hermione could possibly need was in her bag, as always. Safely tucked in her pocket was her wand. She dressed in an outfit Ginny had left for her once she found out that Hermione wouldn’t be staying in their box at the Cup. It was a sleeveless high-low tunic in Bulgarian Red with black leggings and knee-high black boots. Ginny had included silver Snitch charms on the laces near the toe. It was practical for either fighting or fleeing should another Death Eater riot break out, like at the last Cup. She had done her hair in a large bun, moderately taming her curls, using the same charms Ginny had when they'd gotten ready for the gala.

She double-checked to see if the glamour on her forearm still firmly covered the scar as she’d developed a tendency to do each time she was to be in the presence of other people. Her concern wasn’t so much about the reliability of the charm, but more so about how her charm work would hold up after the alteration she underwent in France. She wasn’t the same and had been trying to find her new equilibrium since she’d gotten back.

She finally sat down on the couch, forcing herself to sit still for the remaining five minutes until Malfoy was due to appear. At exactly five o’clock, the Floo erupted in green flames. As usual, he wore a black three-piece suit with the exception of a red armband around his left bicep. He had his coat draped over one arm, but nothing else out of place. She rushed to her feet and made to grab her bag, all the while feeling his eyes as he examined her. It was hard to feel comfortable when he almost always appeared in a suit of some sort; she felt as if she were constantly underdressed, even to go to lunch.

When she met him next to the fireplace he produced a red silk scarf out from under his coat with a flourish. As she went to take it from him, he pulled it just out of her reach.

“Allow me?” he requested.

She nodded curiously and watched through the mirror over the fireplace as he moved around behind her, shaking the scarf out. He carefully circled the base of her bun, tucking in the end and placing a silent sticking charm on it. It looked just like the band that encircled his bicep. She didn’t know what she expected, maybe for him to be wearing a piece of red clothing like she was, or maybe a scarf around his neck with cooling charms. Maybe a lapel pin or a tie tack. Perhaps this was just how the people who weren’t as flamboyant about things—as her friends tended to be—showed support.

“It’s lovely. Thank you, Draco.” She smiled at him.

She picked up the black ruffled ruana from the back of the closest chair, draping it across her bag as she hefted the strap over her head to wear it crossbody-style.

It was obvious when he stepped up next to her how her body physically responded, acknowledging him as he stood near her. Her eyes traveled to the mirror again, meeting his as he watched her. She examined them together, curiously wondering if he’d always been this tall and broad, and if he had, how had she missed it? Perhaps it was because she’d never gotten as close to him as she was now, or maybe he’d just had a late-stage growth spurt during his house arrest. He’d been so thin their Sixth Year, sickly looking by the end, and it wouldn’t surprise her one whit if that was the obvious answer.

With a start, she realized she was staring at him as he patiently stood by her side until her woolgathering had concluded. She waited for some snarky comment, but all she received was a pair of raised brows.

“Ready?” he asked.

She nodded and took the proffered arm, letting him lead her to the fireplace and call out their destination. As they stepped from the arrival grate, she felt his magic wash over her, removing the soot from her clothes. They stepped off the round dais where the fire was alight with roaring green flames and passed two Ministry workers who merely nodded at them as they checked them off the list.

Hermione looked over her shoulder in wonder as Draco led her out of the clearing. It was certainly an improvement over getting up at the crack of dawn and hunting down some piece of junk after trekking for over a mile. It was something she was fine with staying a memory rather than having a repeat performance. As they made their way out of the forest, Hermione came to a halt, looking over the massive field. They had organized the tents in block formation, this time with floating baubles over the walkways that were beginning to glow as the sun began to dip behind the trees. A Muggle-born must have had something to do with the tent mapping, as it was comparable to a map of a modern city.

She felt his gaze as it roved along her form and she glanced over, realizing she had halted their progress again. His patience with her threw her off because she had never known him to be an overly patient man. She took a tentative step forward, relieved when he resumed guiding her towards the temporary city. There were things similar to the last one, like the children that were running amok, the small groups of wizards sitting around outside their momentary abodes as they puffed pipes emitting different colors of smoke, and the posters plastered hither and yon of the opposing teams. People still wandered with trays of goods or foods, hawking their wares to lounging witches and wizards.

The further in they got, the thicker the crowd became. Before she knew it, she was nearly pressed against Draco's side in her attempt at avoiding bumping into people in the throng they’d found themselves in. The idea of them becoming separated caused a twinge in her chest, but it was a notable improvement over how her behavior would have been previously. Even with people surrounding them, all she felt was mild discomfort over the density of the crowd.

She blinked as his hand rested on her waist but found she had no objection to his touch on her side. His arm was a tether that brought her further into his seemingly protective bubble. Regardless of any trials and tribulations Draco and his family may have undergone, he still had a commanding presence that made people give him a few extra inches of space.

They turned at the end of the row, headed for the larger, nicer tents. Her eyes caught on the inconsistency at the end of the widest aisle and when they passed she marveled at the circus of stands that ran down the middle. Set up back to back were vendors all the way down the line, taking advantage of the limited space available without the organizers having to sacrifice tent slots. The smells of a plethora of foods from around the world drifted out of the aisle on the breeze, making her mouth water. Glinting baubles and bright colors called her attention to a hundred different points, and she strained her neck trying to catch sight of as many things as she could.

“I’ll bring you back here later, I promise,” he whispered in her ear.

She whipped her head around, barely bumping noses with him as her eyes flew wide, blinking owlishly. She was unused to someone being so close in her personal space without her being somewhat aware of it ahead of time. He was close enough for her to appreciate the darker gray that danced along the limbal ring that she’d never truly noticed before.

“Okay,” she agreed, voice low as if she were afraid to rock the moment.

The corner of his mouth twitched before he righted himself and sound filtered back in. She’d been so focused on him she’d somehow lost track of everything around them.

When they’d left, the sound of the forest had been a gradual thing that had enveloped them, as well as the crowd, so it was something she hadn’t really noticed. It’d been like wading into a pool, uncomfortable at first but you adapted the further in you got. It was like when she’d distracted herself at the party until the realization hit that she was surrounded by people. Now, however, instead of the roiling stomach or fever that liked to steal across her, there was only general discomfort at the level of racket surrounding them.

As if Draco could physically sense her discomfort, he slid his arm to where he could catch her hand in his, giving it a light squeeze. The usual flood of peace that came with full contact filtered through her as he led them to a simple, yet large wall tent with clean lines. He pulled the flap back and gave her hand a tug, gesturing for her to enter first with the tilt of his head.

She’d been almost hesitant to enter, seeing as how she’d spent so much time in one, but Draco’s tent differed completely from the one she’d been stuck with before. As soon as he dropped the flap, they may as well have been in the middle of nowhere for how quiet it was. The interior smelled floral thanks to the centerpiece of fresh flowers on the table, and overall it gave off the air of glamping with the decorations and furniture chosen instead of how some wizards pretended to rough it. It was similar enough for her to recognize but different enough for it to not transport her back to those dark days. Was this what moving forward was like?

He disengaged their hands to pour them both a glass of wine. Her fingers tingled at the loss and she rubbed at them as she made her way to the leather couch, sitting at the end closest to the matching armchair. He met her there, handing over a glass before sinking down into his seat.

“I had a thought.” He swirled his wine as he watched her.

This couldn’t be good. Hearing those words from certain men never was and Draco Malfoy was smarter and more cunning than most.   
  
“Only the one?”

He ignored her. “You should get a dog. I imagine that even though we’re mostly cured you’ll still stay home by yourself fairly often.”   
  
Until she got a job he was quite right. “I don’t know, having a dog is a big commitment. That and I’ve never seen one in Magical Menagerie.”

“People breed Hippogriffs for sale and yet there’s not a stable in the back of the shop.” Hermione rolled her eyes but he ignored it and continued on. “I can find you the perfect dog. Loyal, smart, devoted, and perfectly trained.”   
  
It was appealing, the idea of having a companion again. It’d seemed like forever since she last saw Crookshanks and her heart clenched at the thought of him. She couldn’t let that experience shape the entirety of her life in regards to pet ownership though. “What sort of dog? I’ve never seen any outside of Hagrid’s monstrosity in First Year.”

“Owls or cats are often the choice du jour of most people, especially if they live in the city or a tiny flat. That being said, most Pureblood families have dogs if for nothing more than an added layer of security. Adrian has a dachshund-type that he bought specifically to help him with foraging specific potions ingredients. Some potioneer got a license to do some experimental breeding and successfully spliced a Bloodhound’s scenting ability into the tiny breed.”

She wasn’t sure she wanted to know the details. She often tried to forget the experimental breeding aspect of the Wizarding World.

“Really? Why doesn’t he just grow them?” 

It wasn’t like Adrian didn’t have the space or the capability.

“Sometimes ingredients are just superior when they’re influenced by their natural environment rather than by humans.”

“Makes sense, I suppose.” She thought back to her time on the run having to forage for what supplies she could to brew and eat.

“Back to the dog. For you I would suggest something large. Perhaps a hound or even something like that Gamekeeper had.” He squinted at the coffee table while he thought.

“Nothing that drools. I’m not mopping up after a mastiff constantly.” She scrunched her nose.

“Fine, nothing messy. Still, something with presence to function as a guard dog wouldn’t be a bad idea for you since you live alone in the middle of nowhere.”   
  
She sighed. It probably wasn’t a bad idea. Harry, Ginny, Ron, and everyone else would probably badger her about it until she gave in if they got wind of the idea. “I’m not saying yes, mind you, but maybe. Get your list of breeds together and I’ll consider it.”

He nodded, seemingly satisfied. “I’ll owl it to you soon.” 

Why did she have the feeling he’d already prepared for this conversation and already had a list and other materials about his selections? It was very Malfoy to just assume he could sway her so easily. It was all she could do not to squint at him in suspicion.

“How’d you feel about the crowd?” he asked, taking a sip of wine.

“I think it wasn’t so bad because we eased into it. I’m not so sure I could say the same if I had apparated into the middle of it. I think the worst part was all the noise. I still feel a smidge of unease being around so many people but I can’t say if that’s because we’re fresh out of treatment or if it’s just a lack of exposure from the last year.” She pursed her lips in thought before taking a sip from her glass. Her eyes closed as the flavors danced across her tongue.

The thought of how she’d taken a drink without at least sniffing it first caught her off guard. She could count on one hand the number of people she trusted to give her good wine. Then again, Malfoy grew up in a cultured environment, undoubtedly with a refined palate and a penchant to the finer things. She doubted there was a universe where he couldn’t pick out a good bottle.

“Do you like the wine?” he asked, rolling the delicate stem of his glass between his fingers.

“Very much. I taste watermelon, strawberries, something tart, and then something earthy. If you could turn summer into wine I’d say it exists in this glass.” She took another long sip. “I’ve never had anything like it before. What is it?”

“Pinot Noir Rosé. I was there when it was made. You have a good palate, Granger. I should take you to the Malfoy vineyards in France for a tasting.” The corners of his mouth flirted with a grin.

“Why does it not surprise me that your family owns a vineyard?” she muttered.

“ _ Vineyards _ . Ancestral wealth is good and all but my mother enjoys the finer things in life and so do I. Cultivating a way to maintain that fortune for generations to come is an important facet of being a Malfoy, and I take that responsibility quite seriously. Even when I wasn’t able to leave the house, I still expanded our holdings. I had advisors examine available properties, bring me soil samples and grape samples, those sorts of things.” He shrugged off the details as he took a long sip.

“Now I’m curious about what you do with the samples.” She sat forward and leaned towards him, cupping the glass in her hands.

“Shocking,” he teased before studying her speculatively. “It’d be easier if I just showed you sometime.”

Her eyes widened further. “Promise?”

“Merlin,” he chortled. “If it pleases you, then yes.”

“Thank you, Malfoy!” she said as she sat back and finished her glass, watching as he did the same.

“You’re welcome. Now that we’ve had some quiet time and something to take the edge off, do you want to go back out to the main alley? If I heard right, they have some new talent amongst the vendors.” He held his hand out for her glass.

She handed the empty glass back and rose to her feet, meeting him at the opening.

He opened the flap slowly, allowing sound to filter in rather than flood the room. She took a deep breath and stepped out into the now even more crowded area. People were  _ everywhere _ . 

The warmth of his hand enveloped hers and she once again felt herself relaxing. She shot him a tiny grin and followed as he pulled her along behind him, parting the sea of people so she wouldn’t have to struggle against them. 

She had spent much of her time alone, pondering the phenomenon she experienced and reviewing her notes. It had to mean something, and she despised not knowing. Especially since it has a direct influence over her nervous system. If Draco affected that, what else could he affect? And then there was the larger question that had caught her off guard the week before: if he caused this in her, what did she do to him in return? Maybe she didn't do anything to him, but that didn't seem quite right. She doubted he'd touch her a fraction of what he had if he wasn't getting  _ something _ out of it, even if the sensation wasn’t as strong.

They finally made it back to the vendors thoroughfare and everything was suddenly vying for her attention. All the colors, sounds, and smells reminded her of the carnival in a way. She took in the different scents wafting from the food vendors, tempted to try something but wary of trying to eat in the pulsing throng of people. Hopefully, they’d be able to order their dinner from the box when it wasn’t a risk to her outfit or person. 

The wares this year were delightful. This time the vendor that sold moving miniatures had equipped them with brooms to ride and even sold them in teams. For enough gold, you could get a kit with a miniature Quidditch stadium and two teams of your choice. One booth had a cage containing a few Golden Snidgets and an overview on their significance in Quidditch history. They sold semi-transparent glass versions of the bird, identical to their live counterparts, with the proceeds going towards building a museum about the sport. Omnioculars were for sale again, of course, and the sight of them took her back to the last Quidditch World Cup she’d attended. Dozens of other trinkets ranging from the "meh" to the "wow," including a booth featuring the newest of brooms that both teams were using. They were offering the option of pre-ordering one, and she wondered if Harry and Ginny were both getting one or if they were going to share one instead. 

Draco pulled her close to his side as he stopped at the corner of the broom booth, quickly filling out a slip and handing it back to the salesman. Hermione kept sneaking glances over her shoulder, feeling eyes boring into her. She and Draco holding hands together in the crowd had elicited several pointed looks, but Malfoy’s icy glare quelled most of them. This was different though; it felt familiar somehow.

The feeling of his hand threading through hers again, coupled with the feelings it invoked snapped her out of her nutter thoughts. Perhaps her paranoia was getting the better of her, she considered. She stopped Draco in order to buy them a pair of programs before they continued the circuit around all the booths. By the time they left, she was carrying one small shopping bag while Draco had several, not to mention the orders that were being delivered to his tent. 

“What in Merlin’s name are you going to do with all of this?” She’d picked up an interactive poster and was pressing the names of different Quidditch moves. The words would all shift to a moving illustration of the action before fading back to the lists.

“I collect items sold only during World Cup matches. Father took me to my very first one in Egypt when I was around five. Watching the players flying by on their broomsticks enamored me so much that I barely had the urge to get up and run around or to beg for my parents' attention. Father loved Quidditch and I’ll never forget sitting tucked in next to him in his magically widened chair because I didn’t want to sit next to some stranger in my own seat. Of course, that stranger turned out to be the Egyptian Minister for Magic, but from what I was told years later, it’d made the man wistful for the days when his sons had been young.” He pressed one of the Quidditch moves on the poster to watch the demonstration of a complicated feint and watched until it faded back to words.

“How many Cup mMatches have you been to?”

“Eleven.”

So that meant he’d been to all of them until he’d been sixteen, the same summer they had branded him. And of course on his seventeenth birthday he was doing Voldemort’s bidding, trapped in his house, and stressing over whether he and his parents would live or die. Then, on his eighteenth, the Ministry detained him until his trial, and he was under house arrest for his nineteenth. He’d had his twentieth birthday the month before, right before they’d become reacquainted.

“Just you and your father?”

“Mother would come on the trips, but most of the time she stayed in the tent or would venture out to shop in the wizarding districts of the nearest city. Mostly she just left me and my father to go prowl the stalls together for souvenirs and make our wagers before the game.” His fingers stilled on the poster, and her heart twisted terribly for him. She squeezed his hand for a moment before his own grip tightened fractionally.

With the barest turn of her head, she snuck a look back at him to see him staring off in the distance, likely looking at something long past. The firelight reflected off his glassy gaze until he swallowed and rapidly blinked the excess moisture away.

She returned to examining the poster, not wanting to intrude on the moment any more than she already had. She watched a couple more maneuvers before noticing Draco flip one of the nearby books open. He made his selections at the table before they moved on down the line.

After many more stops, he led her back out of the fray and pulled her up to walk alongside him, glancing up at the rapidly darkening sky.

“We should head on up to the box. Luckily, most of the vendors are selling food inside the stadium as well. You’d have to be barmy to try eating in that mob. Is there anything else you want? Speak now or forever hold your peace, Granger.” He looked down at her with a cocked brow.

She merely shook her head. “I satisfied my shopping desires at the Snidget booth.”

“Very well then, come along.”

He led her back to his tent where they dropped off their purchases and stopped in front of a golden snitch that was hovering in the center of the room.

“Hold tight,” he said, and when she squeezed his hand, he wrapped his fingers around the fluttering ball.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> See you all next Saturday! <3


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Huge thanks to my Alpha/Betas NuclearNik and Monica03, without them I would be a mess and this story would be a disaster. Also a huge thanks to my Omegas (pre-reader) MarshmallowMcGonagall and QuinTalon!
> 
> To everyone who reads, subscribes, bookmarks, comments/reviews, follows, reblogs, likes, etc: I appreciate you all SO VERY MUCH. With the length of my chapters and the editing process, it leaves little time to come back and interact (I'll still try, however!). I promise though, all of it makes me go starry eyed and flail about every single time.
> 
> Disclaimer: I own nothing.

Hermione blinked and looked around. The box was large enough for several people but there were merely two large armchairs sat side by side in the space like thrones, along with a pair of matching end tables on either side of them.

When she and her companion sat, a pair of matching squashy-looking ottomans sprouted from the floor with what looked like menus resting atop them. Draco snagged his, replacing it with his feet as he began to flip through the miniature booklet. She followed suit, exploring her own. When she furrowed her brow, curious about how to order, Draco spoke to his menu and it immediately reminded her of the Yule Ball.

When he had his steak pie and she her curry, they settled in to eat their dinner. Apparently this time the League had learned its lesson concerning mascots and had contained both the Veela and the leprechauns behind magic lines drawn into the pitch. More than one leprechaun was studying it with fascination, and Hermione wondered what they may do to manipulate the containment efforts, if anything. For all she knew, they’d required the leprechauns to enter into an agreement that they wouldn’t tamper with it.

Before she could bring up the potential disaster on the field, Draco turned to her and withdrew something from the inner pocket of his coat. As he enlarged it, she could see that it was a simple black flip-top box held together with a silver satin bow. When it was back to the appropriate size, he set it in her lap. He shifted, crossing his ankles and folding his hands across his stomach as he watched her.

“You didn’t have to get me anything.”

“I am aware,” he drawled. “I wanted to.”

She couldn’t keep herself from stroking the expensive ribbon. Finally, she pulled the satin free and opened it. Inside, resting on a cushioned bed of satin matching the ribbon it’d been wrapped with, were a pair of omnioculars. They were exactly like the pair she’d used at the Pucey’s, only brand new. She ran her fingers along the smooth metal, biting her lip. They were so much nicer than the pair she’d had years ago. They must have been expensive with the way his tastes ran. She couldn’t accept a gift of this magnitude.

“Draco, I don’t think—”

“Take them out. Set them up. The game is going to start soon,” he said as he pulled out another box containing his own pair.

She watched him from the corner of her eye as he fiddled with the settings. Had she blinked, she would have missed the bob of his Adam’s apple as he waited to see if she would reject his gift. 

She bit her lip and deliberated for a few more moments before pulling them out of the box. “Thank you. I didn’t even think about getting a pair.”

He nodded. “You’re welcome.” 

One gift wouldn’t hurt as long as he didn’t try giving her things like this again outside of Christmas. Besides, if she allowed him to give her gifts then he better be accepting when she decided to get them for him as well.

Unlike Ron, who had insisted on setting them up for her last time, Malfoy made suggestions as she did things her own way. She tamped down on the urge to fidget as he watched her fiddle with the knobs and levers. She pulled them to her face to scan the other boxes.

“Looking for Potter and the Weasel?”

She nodded, and then jumped when a warm hand closed around hers, guiding the omnioculars further around the field until she was nearly looking straight across the pitch. All of a sudden, a flock of redheads plus Harry, Luna, and Pansy floated into her field of view. A grin stretched her mouth to see her friends so happy. She missed the energy that came with accompanying them to this sort of event, yet it was appealing where she was. She doubted Malfoy expected her to be lively and scream with enthusiasm.

Suddenly, a gong echoed throughout the stadium and everyone’s attention zeroed in on a man in cream robes on a floating dais.

“Who is that?” Hermione asked.

“Magnus Black. He’s over the Department of Magical Games and Sports.”

“A Black?”

“They’re a very prolific family, much like another we both unfortunately know.” He cut his eyes towards her to observe her reaction.

She opened her mouth to reprimand him, but Black’s amplified voice interrupted her.

“Ladies and gentlemen, I would like to welcome you to the final match of the 428th Quidditch World Cup!” Black’s deep voice resounded throughout the stadium.

The gong rang again and with it, seven players entered the stadium, flying single file out from halfway up the stands where a box would have been. The Irish players looped around, fanning out while green and white smoke poured from their wands, matching fireworks booming overhead as they made their progression around the pitch. From each firework tendril, more explosions erupted, showering the entire area in glittering shamrocks. She didn’t recognize the names of the players but she could tell that they were a tight, coordinated unit and unless Bulgaria had improved from the last time, they were in for a tough match indeed. 

Another gong sounded and a roll of red and black sparks raced over the edges of the stadium, shooting down to the field where it all coalesced and shot straight into the sky, erupting into its own dark set of fireworks that erased the Irish frivolity. The Bulgarian team emerged from the same open block as the Irish. They dropped into a V formation, zooming in a dramatic dive towards the pitch before rocketing back up. The leader flipped his broom around, pulling himself vertical in a move reminiscent to Viktor’s from the ‘94 Cup. The stadium roared and stamped their feet, chanting, “Pan! Pan! Pan!”

“Who’s that?” she asked, watching as the young, fair-haired player led his group around the pitch to fevered screams of his name.

“That’s Nikolay Panlov. Krum’s been personally grooming him for the past few years in anticipation of when he semi-retired from the League. Krum’s here tonight on the reserve string, just in case.”

That sounded ominous. She hadn’t heard from Viktor in a few months, didn’t know he was even still playing. All he’d talked about in his letters anymore were his academic pursuits and vague aspirations for the future.

“I’d no idea,” she mumbled.

The gong rang a final time. “Let the games begin!” Magnus’s voice rumbled over the crowd as he released the Snitch with his wand.

Magnus floated back to his box, and Hermione followed the movement and examined the crowd of politicians, including Kingsley, who was seated next to who she guessed was the Bulgarian Minister: a dark-haired woman who seemed to favor a severe expression and was dressed in Bulgaria’s colors.

Kettle drums and explosive cheering erupted moments later, yanking her attention from the box. Bulgaria had made the first goal, marking an aggressive start to the game.

While they didn’t slow down their charge, Ireland wasn’t going down without a fight.

Back and forth possession of the Quaffle changed hands, whether after a score or a steal.

Hermione shot to her feet with a gasp; the stadium erupting in alarm as an Ireland Chaser was knocked off his broom by a Bludger, plummeting to the pitch below before magically being caught mere feet above the grass.

A glowing golden light enveloping the Leprechauns as they stood together as one—right hands extended—drew her attention. Together, they lowered the Chaser the last few feet onto the grass where a medic team picked him up and zoomed from sight. Out of one of the boxes, a red-headed woman lept from the railing, tucking a broom between her legs and joining the fray.

Warm fingers brushed along Hermione’s arm as he guided her back into her seat. The adrenaline from witnessing the near death floated away from her system, and afterward she felt warm in the cool night air.

“You look like you’re actually enjoying yourself,” Draco said, causing an eruption of goose pimples to light up her arms.

She hadn’t realized he was so close. With a glance out of the corner of her eye, she realized they were both angled towards one another, leaning on the inner arms of their chairs. 

He was watching her with his chin cupped in his hand, bright silver eyes flicking to the game before returning to her. With a blink, she realized he was right.

“Surprisingly, I am.”

“Tastes and pleasures evolve with age, Granger. You shouldn’t be so surprised.”

“It may have something to do with the setting I’m in. Not having your eardrums screamed out of your head does wonders.”

“Perhaps the company is a contributing factor as well?”

A smirk tugged at one side of her mouth. “Perhaps,” she said.

Kettle drums called their attention once more to the action, each of them watching the progression through their matching omnioculars.

She spied on him out of the corner of her eye from time to time, simply observing him. At times, his shoulders would tense as he pursed his mouth, looking like he was ready to spring from his seat when there was a close call or a nasty foul. Other times he intently tracked one seeker or the other with intent eyes, and it reminded her of Harry, though she would never tell Draco that. It was hard at times to tear her eyes from him as he watched, enraptured in the play.

He blinked suddenly and cut his eyes over to her. Her shoulders tensed as her face burned. She all but glued her omnioculars back to her face, returning her attention to where it should’ve been all along. The moment he stopped watching her and returned his attention to the game was obvious.

Bulgaria had improved over the last few years. Where last time it was clear who the victors would be, this time it was a fierce battle on all fronts. More members of the reserve team from either side kept having to be deployed in the face of Bludger incidents and one midair crash.

Time seemed to stop as Hermione felt eyes settle on her, but she could immediately tell that it wasn’t Draco. A chill shot down her spine and sweat broke out at the back of her neck in a way that it hadn’t since she’d reconnected with Draco at the gala.

“Hermione.”

She scanned the crowds frantically for any hint of omnioculars pointed in their direction. One person watching her never affected her like this before. She was on her feet before realizing it.

“Hermione!”

Tension threaded throughout her shoulders, pulling them taught as they crept up towards her ears while she panned row after row.

Suddenly the omnioculars were pulled from her grip and set them aside. She whipped her head over, opening her mouth to demand what the hell he was doing when he grabbed her hand. Her shoulders relaxed, the prickling ceased, and calm returned.

“Look.” He turned his head to face the front of their box.

Her eyes followed and there, hovering in front of them, was the fluttering golden snitch.

In seemingly slow motion, the outstretched fingers of the Bulgarian seeker rose out of nowhere from below, like a shark breaching the ocean surface, and closed around the snitch. The fluttering wings beat feebly out of either side of his fist. Ireland’s seeker was half a second behind him, but too late.

“Panlov’s caught the Snitch! Bulgaria wins 450 to 300!” Black’s voice boomed.

Kettle drums exploded in force as the arena erupted in deafening screams. The din surrounding them made it impossible to hear Draco’s voice, but the joy on his face was unlike any she’d seen from him in years. Even without whatever influence his touch brought, a warmth gathered in her chest at the sight.

She felt the prickling sensation of being watched again. As if by magnetism, her head turned and her eyes zeroed in on the single still form in the writhing madness. It was as if the distance between their boxes disappeared and the omnioculars were unnecessary. Viktor Krum stood as if petrified at the railing of the Reserve box, staring at her across the expanse. It was not the same gaze she remembered when she’d seen him the year before. His black eyes were cold, a curious look overtaking his features when he realized they were watching each other.

It was wrong. A perversion of the Viktor she knew and cared for.

She took a step back, her knees buckling when she unexpectedly hit the armchair. She sprawled into her seat, her hand slipping from Draco’s. Something was badly wrong with her old friend. 

She couldn’t breathe despite gulping great lungfuls. Her fingers trembled as they grasped the arms of the chair, and her stomach coiled painfully. Suddenly Draco knelt in front of her, bringing them face to face. Waving his wand over his shoulder before pocketing it, his arms slid around her waist, and he pulled her to mirror him on the floor, pressed against his chest.

“Breathe in. One, two, three, four. Hold.” He tapped his fingertips against her back as he counted them through the exercise.

She let her ear rest against his chest, the thudding of his heart matching the tapping of his fingers.

It took five circuits of the exercise before she was able to match her breathing to his. The fog dissipated; she could breathe and didn’t feel like she was about to pass out anymore.

Finally, she pulled away and sat back, legs folded beneath her.

“Hey, what happened?” Blond brows furrowed above silver eyes.

“It’s crazy. It sounds crazy even to me.”

“Tell me. I’m quite experienced in the realm of insane.”

“I figured out who was staring at me.”

His brows tightened further. “What are you talking about?”

“I can tell when I’m being watched, Draco. I could  _ feel _ it. That’s what I was looking for when I was searching the crowd.”

“It was probably just someone who noticed the Snitch in front of our box.”

“You didn’t see him though, Draco. Viktor looked,” ‘possessed’ was the best word for it, but maybe not the most appropriate, “wrong. He wasn’t moving despite his protege’s success. I’ve never seen his eyes so dark or cold.”

A shudder ran up her spine at the recollection.

“Maybe it was just a misunderstanding. You were, after all, looking at him across a massive stadium without your omnioculars.” His hands ran up and down her arms.

She opened her mouth to argue, but then closed it again. It  _ was _ bizarre, and she shouldn’t expect anyone to believe her. Maybe it wasn’t even Viktor, but a doppelganger. She didn’t know what to think. In the end, she just shrugged.

“Let’s go back and have some more wine. All the camera flashes and the racket are starting to give me a headache,” he said as he got to his feet, extending a hand to her.

She groaned and took it, and the feel of his pinky ring pressing against her knuckles uncomfortably helped to ground her in the here and now as she rose to her feet.

“What’s wrong?” he asked, brow cocked.

“I’ve done well to keep my lunacy out of the papers. Now there have been dozens and dozens of photos taken that show the whole thing playing out,” she grumbled.

He scoffed. “So little faith. I’ll have you know, Granger, that I cast a notice-me-not charm before I kept you from passing flat out.”

She blinked. “Oh! Thank you.”

“Let’s try this again. Wine?”

“Please.”

She gathered her omnioculars, carefully packing them back into their box and sealing it shut with the silver ribbon. Everything went into the beaded bag, then she took Draco’s extended hand.

Taking one last look out into the stadium, she caught sight of Viktor looking perfectly normal as he zoomed along in the celebratory victor’s flight as the team lapped the stadium and shot off fireworks in their team colors from the end of their wands.

An explosion of red and black erupted in front of their box just as a yanking sensation materialized behind her navel, depositing them back in Draco’s tent. She returned to her spot on the couch as he went to remove the stasis charm he’d placed on the wine bottle and poured the remainder into two glasses.

He sat in what she thought of as his chair as he handed the glass over and fixed his gaze on her.

“So, was it as awful as you thought it would be?” Blond brows rose.

“Shockingly enough, I found I enjoyed myself quite a bit.”

“Hell has frozen over,” he deadpanned.

Her head jerked back as she righted her glass, quickly swallowing the drink she’d just taken. “Hell is a Muggle thing.”

“So?”

“ _ So _ ? So how would you know about it?”

“Long story short, I got tricked into reading the Bible. Theo thought it would be entertaining to go on and on about it until I was too curious to stop myself. From my understanding there are Muggles who think the entirety of it is fictitious and it causes quite a stir when that’s mentioned.”

Her brows shot up high on her head. “Have you read any other religious texts?”

“A few. They all have their interesting bits.”

“Find anything you ascribe to?”

“If you’re asking if I found God, then I hate to tell you that I didn’t find them in a Muggle religion. I even attended a Catholic service once to see what it was about because I didn’t believe Blaise when he described it. Do you believe in God, Granger?”

She took another sip of wine to put off answering the question. What a bizarre conversation to be having with Draco Malfoy.

“I believe in God in the abstract, I suppose. My parents are Protestants but only the sort that go on Easter and Christmas.” An ache even his touch wouldn’t soothe erupted behind her breastbone, so she moved on quickly. “The idea of you in a church is a strange one. What’d you think of the service?”

“It was fascinating to watch a man make an interpretation of an ancient text and then try to present it in a modern way. It was fairly empty, and I sat in the back, but the whole thing had a ritualism to it, and I suppose I could see why people may find the institution soothing. Perhaps living with a man who thought he was a God was enough to ruin me on the topic altogether,” he said.

“Have you read on Wiccans and Paganism?” she asked.

“It’s on my list somewhere. Why?”

“I just think you’d perhaps find it more interesting than something like Catholicism.”

“I’ll bump them up then.”

He rose and fetched a cheese plate from somewhere, along with another bottle of wine. A Rhone this time to go with the French cheese selections.

Her second glass gave her the courage to fulfill something she’d told herself she would do if their efforts in France were successful.

“I had a question I wanted to ask you, now that we know that neither of us will spaz out in a crowd with the exception of earlier,” Hermione said as Draco refilled her glass again.

He tilted his head and waited for her to continue.

“I remember you lamenting on missing the last Wizarding opera of the season, but Muggles have opera too. I haven’t been to one in so long, and you’re the only one I know that may appreciate it. So, I was wondering if you would be interested in attending the opera or maybe a symphony with me.”

She fidgeted as he watched her.

“Are you asking me on a date, Granger?” he asked, silver eyes glinting as his mouth curved in a grin.

Her face felt like it was on fire as she pressed herself back into the corner. Why couldn’t a hole just open up and swallow her?

“No! I mean to say… That is… I…”

“ _ Relax _ , I’m just teasing. I’ve never thought about Muggles having opera or any sort of similar art, but I suppose I could give it a try.”

“The omnioculars reminded me, actually. Art in the Wizarding world isn’t something I know much about, aside from the methodology of creating portraits. I’ve never seen or heard of a Wizarding art gallery. I know little of Wizarding plays or other entertainment outside of a few musical acts and the time you mentioned the Wizarding opera. I’ve been to a few galleries since the end of the war, since they’re typically a quiet affair and empty if you know when to go. I just... I miss creative works outside of books,” she said as a hollowness crept up inside her.

“I’ll tell you what. You teach me about Muggle arts, and I’ll teach you about Wizarding arts. It’s more about knowing where to look for listings and events. Just because we seemingly ascribe to the Dark Ages doesn’t mean we don’t enjoy the arts. Deal?” he asked.

“Deal. I’ll figure out something for us to go see in London this month,” she said, the negativity draining away.

“Actually, Granger, there’s something I need to tell you before you do,” he said as he sat his wine glass aside.

He took a deep breath, running his fingers through his hair. 

That was unusual. Draco Malfoy did not get nervous, so the sight of him squirming didn’t encourage good feelings. She wondered if she really wanted to know if it set him off like this. Whatever it was, she couldn’t take the waiting anymore.

“What is it? What’s wrong?”

This evening was a fucking rollercoaster from hell. The highs were amazing, but the lows were turning out to be the worst. She made a mental note to never mention that particular Muggle contraption.

“I’m joining the Aurors,” he said in a rush.

He’d said it so quickly she had to replay it in her mind for it to compute.

“Can you? I’m not so sure that’s the best idea. If you going out for too long gives Narcissa fits, I imagine this would put her in a ward at St. Mungo’s or the Paris hospital. The qualifications to get in are so stringent and you’d be surrounded by people who aren’t the most understanding.” She shot to her feet and began pacing in the tight space between the coffee table and the sofa.

Harry had gotten hazed when he joined, as he claimed happened to all Aurors, and the notion of it happening to Draco set her teeth on edge. Harry’s had been more light-hearted than anything, but she didn’t have the same hope for the equivalent thing happening to Draco. Then there was the matter of it placing an even larger target on his back than there already was. The upside was that by becoming an Auror, it could change public opinion of him and perhaps make him less hated by those that didn’t know his full story and only saw him as the villain. How had she come to be so concerned over him? They’d been friends perhaps little more than two months now.

He plucked her glass from her hands. Two hands halted her progression, and he bent to catch her eyes.

“I’m already in. I picked up my badge and orders today when I picked up our Portkeys. Like I told Mother, as a law enforcement officer people will be more hesitant to do something to me. After the war, they made the penalty of attacking or killing an Auror severe. They will train me extensively, which will make me more formidable. There are few downsides to this.”

He was already in? How long ago had he applied? There had to be openings first, and Harry had said nothing about anyone retiring. The thought of their lunch dates drying up for a few months made a strange lump curdle in her stomach. Perhaps it was because their friendship was so fresh after so many years of hatred, and she was afraid that it would slip away before it was something more solid... That had to be it.

“Why?” she asked, looking up at him.

“Because when they initially arrested and tried me, I may have gotten out of going to Azkaban, but I had to pay reparations. While I gladly gave the gold to help fix the physical damage wrought by the Dark Lord’s regime, I myself contributed nothing back to Wizarding society. Not really. By joining the Aurors as a Dark Arts specialist and as someone who can advise when it comes to all the old pure-blood families, it gives me a chance to pay my debt for the wrongs I committed. Of which there are  _ many _ more than you know. I need to do this if I’m going to have any sort of life after war,” he said as he searched her face for any hint of what was going on in her mind.

Had he meant doing it to make living in their society more amenable, she would have accepted it but perhaps not gracefully. That he was doing it both for himself and to make genuine contributions to right his wrongs softened her to the idea.

“I just worry about my friends.” She smiled weakly at him.

“It’ll be alright. We may not get to meet up on a neat schedule for a bit, but I’m not going to just drop you, Hermione. I meant it when I said I wanted us to be friends. My misery loved your company before our treatment, but that wasn’t all there was to it.”

It did something funny when he said her name for the first time. It was bizarre that he was able to pick those insecurities out of her, but wouldn’t it be the same for anyone else? He’d always excelled at reading people.

“Okaay. Just... don’t think you have to tolerate them hazing you. That’s bullshit.”

“I won’t. Don’t fret.” He grinned at her.

She took a deep breath and tentatively returned his grin, willing the unease to bleed from her system.

When it became obvious she wasn’t going to have some sort of fit, he returned to his seat and she followed suit, picking up her wine glass and draining the last bit.

It grew late in the night as they sat there drinking wine and discussing spellcraft, rare plants, and potioneering. They felt no obligation to leave the table or to dodge reporters. It was so easy to talk to him. She hadn’t felt this intellectually active in years, not since she sat at the last Christmas dinner talking to Bill about advanced curse-breaking. Not to say that her friends were stupid, their interests just lay at different points than hers did.

The fourth time she yawned, she realized how late it had gotten. It was well past midnight.

“How did it get so late? I really should be going,” she said, disappointment rolling through her as she gathered her things.

“Would you object to me Apparating you home?” he asked.

“Why?” She cocked her head.

“Because it’s quite late and it’d make me feel better to know that you got home safely.”

“Oh. I suppose so then.”

His parents practically drilled chivalry into him as part of his upbringing, so it shouldn’t be surprising to her that he wanted to do that.

When she was sure she had everything, she joined him and took his proffered arm. He turned them into the void and when they came back out, they landed at the end of her walkway. She watched as he surveyed the area before leading her up to the front door. She spelled the porch light on, and they faced each other in the warm glow.

“Thank you for coming with me tonight,” he said.

“Thank you for asking me to go. I enjoyed myself far more than I expected.”

“Does this mean if I ask you to come watch the Falcons with me, you will?” He smirked.

“Maybe on occasion. I’m sure Blaise and Pansy would make for much better company for these things anyway. They actively enjoy the sport.”

“You enjoyed it plenty tonight.”

He had her there, but it was more so because of him.

“We’ll try a Falcon’s game then, if you really want,” she said, with a conceding sigh.

“I knew you’d see things my way.” 

She rolled her eyes and opened the door.

“Goodnight, Draco.”

“Goodnight, Hermione. I’ll owl you.”

“I’ll be looking for it.” He stepped back, and she shut the door with a grin. She watched out the window as he returned to the Apparition point and disappeared from sight.

She drew her wand and cast a series of spells in quick succession. Nobody was here, none of her wards had been tripped, and everything was as it should be. However, there was a tingling between her shoulder blades she wasn’t able to place the source of. Perhaps it was just the unease returning from the strange thing she’d seen at the stadium. What was more probable was the fact that she was now away from Draco again and the soothing quality she got from being near him was already draining away. Although not as quickly as usual, probably due to extended exposure.

For good measure and peace of mind, she did an old fashioned search of the entire place, wand at the ready to make any potential invader regret it for the rest of their existence. When her search turned up nothing, she unpacked her glass Golden Snidget and placed him on the mantle. When she made to fold and put away the bag, she found another small box, hidden in the tissue paper.

She was really going to have to object to him giving her gifts after those omnioculars. This one wasn’t expensive, however. It was a simple Snitch with the cup number and date engraved into one side along with a note. When had he had time to write that and sneak it all into her bag?

_ Here’s to more adventures - DM _

She couldn’t stop the smile that spread across her face as she made it a new home on her nightstand. Exhaustion washed over her at the sight of her bed and she shucked her clothes in short order, forgoing anything else in a rare moment of laziness.

As she was settling under the blankets, she realized he’d brought up the subject of Hell to distract her from her freak out. Not for the first time she wondered what it would be like in a universe where they could’ve been friends growing up.

That night she dreamed of running after a Snitch just out of her reach, coupled with the feeling that she was being pursued by something she wasn’t able to see and wouldn’t be able to until it was too late.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> See you all next Saturday <3


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Huge thanks to my Alpha/Betas NuclearNik and Monica03, without them I would be a mess and this story would be a disaster. Also a huge thanks to my Omegas (pre-reader) MarshmallowMcGonagall and QuinTalon!
> 
> To everyone who reads, subscribes, bookmarks, comments/reviews, follows, reblogs, likes, etc: I appreciate you all SO VERY MUCH. With the length of my chapters and the editing process, it leaves little time to come back and interact (I'll still try, however!). I promise though, all of it makes me go starry eyed and flail about every single time.
> 
> Disclaimer: I own nothing.

It’d been six weeks since Draco started Auror training. Hermione had managed to squeeze in a quick lunch with him on most Saturdays. Robards was fast-tracking him through training, and so he was having to work nearly every single day.

He’d sent her an owl the day before saying the coming Saturday would only be a half-day at work, and he would be free to attend the opera with her if she still wanted to go. She sent back a scribbled note of affirmation, then sped off to purchase tickets for  _ The Magic Flute _ . They’d cost a pretty Galleon for the seats she’d selected, but luckily for her, the exchange rate currently worked in her favor.

Since Draco had been out of commission when it came to lunch dates, she made up the time she’d missed out on with Harry and Ginny, neither of whom she’d seen much of since before the World Cup.

Harry couldn’t stop himself from asking about Malfoy. Malfoy this and Malfoy that. Did he really take her to lunch so often? Why didn’t she come to visit their box at the Cup? Did he keep her in his box against her will? Why was she still seeing him now that the whole France “fiasco” was over? After the fiftieth Draco-centric question, she’d forbidden Harry from talking about him and threatened him with Langlock for good measure should he want to push it.

Ginny was just as interested as Harry, except she was more fascinated in things like where he took her to lunch, what they talked about, and did they ever go anywhere else? Behind closed doors, Ginny had always been into girl talk as long as it didn’t involve Ron. They’d talked at length about Viktor before, especially during Fourth Year when he’d kept Hermione company so often in the library. Cormac McLaggen had come up several times in Sixth Year, but those conversations more or less revolved around which spells were less likely to get her detention should he corner her and not get the hint to go away.

Ginny tried to insinuate now and again that Draco was trying for more than just friendship, but Hermione was surprisingly resistant to it.

_ “Ginny, it doesn’t make sense for him to want to be more than friends.” _

_ “But why does it have to make sense? Attraction doesn’t have to make sense. And you can’t deny the man is physically attractive.” _

Hermione could’ve gone into the science of attraction and how, yes, it did make sense. Ginny would have called it rubbish, then they’d have been back at square one, so Hermione didn’t waste her breath. 

She shrugged out of her nicer robes, changing into some of her rattier jeans and an old cut up Quidditch shirt. She plucked a basket from the counter and skipped out into the sunshine, over to the berry bushes lining her yard.

She’d filled half her basket when her skin began to prickle as if something slimy had just been drug straight down the middle of her back. It was nonsensical. She had warded the entire property, and if anyone crossed over through her wards, it would alert her. Right? Still, that itch at the base of her neck that developed whenever she was being watched had flared to life. 

After a slow breath—in through her nose and out through her mouth—she furtively peeked over her shoulder and looked over the entire area meticulously. She wasn’t sure what she’d been expecting. Lord Voldemort, perhaps? Or maybe Snape, back from the grave. All that was there was a large, empty expanse of green grass between her and the house. Nobody peeking from behind trees or the greenhouse, which had alarms set on the doors and windows.

Surely nobody was inside her house. It was all illogical. If someone was there, she would have been alerted somehow. It was unhealthy to be this paranoid. Maybe the France excursion was wearing off already. She forced herself to fill the rest of the basket with the blackberries before going back inside.

She deposited the berries on the counter before she drew her wand from her back pocket and walked from room to room. She shoved it under every bed, into every closet, and in both showers, ready for a fight should someone be there.

Whatever it was that afflicted her when she came back into contact with Draco months ago, it didn’t like them being apart for too long. His presence still soothed it, and as she rubbed at her chest, she wondered—not for the first time—if that would ever dull, if his touch would eventually become less potent. She longed for Saturday on the off-chance that it would ease some of the crazy bubbling back up inside of her.

In an attempt to ditch her mad thoughts, she ran the sink full of water and dumped in the berries. She’d made a massive batch of lemon curd the day before and had been craving parfaits again. She’d sent some to the Weasleys and given Ginny a few jars at lunch. Harry devoured the last batch by the spoonful, so Ginny had requested a few extras to hide from him in case he decided lemon curd was an acceptable afternoon snack again.

Catching something out of the corner of her eye at one of the windows, she threw down the old tea towels she’d been laying out to dry the blackberries on. She thundered over and flung the window open, wand shoved out first as she looked in both directions. Her curls whipped wildly with the motion as she surveyed her surroundings, again finding nothing. She pulled herself back in and slammed the window closed.

It must have been the lack of quality sleep. In the last few days she’d been tossing and turning half the night, it seemed, before finally settling into slumber. And another curious thing had happened a couple of times—she’d only ever experienced sleep paralysis a few times before, but in the past week, it’d hit her twice. Maybe the figment she’d seen during the two incidences was haunting her mind, preying on the exhaustion and making her think she’d seen things that weren’t there. She charmed all the doors and windows locked and slunk back to the kitchen.

She used her wand to draw lines on the floor in the open space that would alert her if anyone crossed them, then she drug a chair out and sat heavily in it, pressing her forehead to the counter.  _ It’s going to be okay. _ The doctors said having excess stress or a lack of sleep could set her off.

“Get it together, Hermione.”

Back to her workspace she went, slinking off the chair. She whipped the cream, sugared the berries, layered the confection together, and then shoved the little jars into the fridge to chill until she wanted dessert or a snack.

It was only a quarter after three when she finished and by that time the slimy sensation had disappeared. She felt settled enough that a nice nap on the couch was in order. Maybe she should whip up some Dreamless Draught tonight to help ease her into sleeping normally again.

She dragged herself into the sitting room and dropped into the center of the couch, toeing her shoes off and drifting over onto the cushions. Once she’d summoned her pillow and got comfortable on her side, she barely managed three more blinks before the darkness claimed her, and she hadn’t even thought to set any ward lines around the couch.

It felt like ten minutes had passed when her senses twitched. She pried open her eyelids and choked on a scream as it connected in her brain that someone was standing over her. There was nowhere to go and  _ where _ was her wand?

Her hand flew to her sleeve; a large, strong hand caught it. 

“Hermione, it’s me. Calm down!” He sat down on the edge of the couch, and it was only then that her brain processed what she was seeing: Draco Malfoy was in her house, sitting next to her and still dressed in his charcoal Auror robes.

It was dark outside and only the lamp on the end table was turned on, likely by Draco moments before she woke up and flipped out.

The tension bled from her body, and her head flopped back onto her pillow.

“Are you alright?”

“It’s been a weird day. You know how they said excess stress or lack of sleep could cause symptoms from our affliction?”

“Yes. What’s been bothering you?”

She sighed and turned over onto her side, looking up at him and studying him for a moment. This was a whole new level to their friendship. “I haven’t been sleeping well.”

“Dreams?”

“I’m not sure what it is. Sometimes it seems like I can’t get comfortable and other times I wake up in confusion and with a massive amount of nervous energy. Like I should be reacting to something, but everything is always silent. Nothing seems out of place. I just end up feeling crazy.” She hadn’t confessed this to anyone else—not even Harry.

“That’s why I moved out of the Manor a few months into my house arrest. It took some...  _ donations _ to the Ministry, but they let me move into my estate earlier than anticipated. My childhood home was tainted, and I could never relax enough to actually rest anymore.”

She blinked up at him. “I didn’t know that. I would have thought enough magical cleansing would have settled everything down.”

“The house and the grounds aren’t quite back to where they should be, but the specialist from Germany said things needed to settle out. The rest of the magic must then disperse into the newly created vacuum before it can be removed entirely. It helps that there are no more Dark objects that we can find to radiate anything additional out. While I may never live there again, I hope it can become something resembling the home from my memories.”

Her fingers pinched at the soft fabric of her shirt. “Um, just out of curiosity, what happened to everything you found?”

“Handed it over to the Department of Mysteries. They contacted me about their interest and asked if I wanted to divest of anything Dark I might find lying around.” His brow hitched up. “What’d you think I did with it?” 

She shrugged her shoulders. “I dunno. I’ve no idea the options of getting rid of Dark artifacts aside from Bourgin and Burkes.” 

Draco sighed. “Most people don’t. There are a few things you can do. Some families will seal them off somewhere, usually in an empty, warded tomb in the family cemetery in case they decide they may want to actually use them one day.” He pursed his lips, and she had a feeling that was what Lucius had opted for at some point. “You can hire a curse breaker to remove whatever enchantments are on the item, although, afterwards you’d need to have it cleansed of the residue Dark magic leaves. You can sell them, of course, whether to associates or shops. You can anonymously donate them to the Ministry who will dispose of them. If all else fails you can just destroy them if you don’t want anyone to know of their existence in the first place.” 

“Isn’t that risky?”

“Well, I wouldn’t exactly advise anyone to go have a bonfire unless you knew it was safe, but desperate times call for desperate measures.”

“I’d rather not end up in St. Mungo’s.”

“It’s doubtful  _ you’d _ ever have anything Dark to worry about anyway.” He rolled his eyes.

“You do realize that’s the perfect front for me to have loads of Dark objects for personal study, right?”

He stared at her, his brow cocked again.

“Whatever, Draco. Anyway, what on earth are you doing here?” And why hadn’t she heard any alarms go off?

He gestured to a bag on the coffee table and she saw that it was take-away from the place that had such good curry from their second lunch together. 

“I know we haven’t been able to have lunch, thanks to Robards’ plan to shove me through all the base training you have to do before you can get into the field. So I thought that I’d bring dinner to you and keep you from an evening of cooking. I hope you don’t mind.” His pointer finger traced intricate patterns along his charcoal uniform pants. 

Was he nervous? She’d told him he could drop by whenever he wanted like she had all the rest of her friends.

“No, it’s fine. To be honest, our lunches had become part of my week and it feels strange deviating from our schedule. I’ve felt like I’m late to something the last several Tuesdays and Thursdays.” She rose from the couch, brushing against his arm as she sat up.

She would be lying if she said she hadn’t enjoyed the peace that had washed over her when he’d sat down so close. It’d been so tempting to close her eyes as he was explaining about Dark artifacts, but she knew if she did his voice would have lulled her straight back to sleep.

She plucked the bag from the table and made for the kitchen. With a wave of her wand, she set up two place settings at the bar and divided the large containers of curry, rice, and naan bread. Then she was opening a cupboard and shoving herself up on her toes, hand stretching for the Butterbeer and cursing Harry for sticking things out of her reach when he’d helped her put away the groceries last week. A hand at her waist was her only warning before Draco pressed against her back, easily reaching up and snagging two of them. 

He was warm and firm, and she wanted to slap herself for being disappointed when he stepped away. They were only friends, and she needed to remember that.

He pressed one into her hand with a faint smirk. “You seem to forget that you’re a witch at the oddest times.”

“Old habits die hard. Certain things I just don’t think about using my wand for.”

“Maybe you should. Merlin knows you’d do something like climb the shelves to get whatever you were after otherwise.”

She flushed pink, and he chuckled as he made his way to his chair, shucking his coat and hanging it on the back. Hermione wouldn’t tell him she  _ had _ , in fact, climbed counters and shelves to get to things before. She joined him, muttering about not limiting herself to wand usage when he waved his hand over their bottles. Both of the caps popped themselves loose, and he looked at her as if challenging her mumbles.

“Hmph.” She speared some chicken and rice, shoving it into her mouth as an excuse to not speak. Draco merely snickered and began eating his meal.

The discomfort was gone as well as the emotional rollercoaster and paranoia that had been plaguing her throughout the day.

The meal passed quietly, comfortably. She was refreshed from her nap and in hindsight, she chalked up today’s behavior to a severe lack of sleep. Like the time back in Hogwarts when she’d freaked out over studying for a subject only to realize she’d already sat the exam.

When they both finished, Draco sent the dishes zooming to the sink to wash themselves and vanished the trash. Hermione snagged the nice take-away bag before he could get to it and stashed it in her cupboard with the other good shopping bags.

“Parfait? I made lemon curd recently and picked blackberries this morning in my bout of insanity.”

He rolled his eyes. “Dessert would be lovely, thank you.”

She plucked two from the fridge and two spoons from the drawer. She resumed her seat and handed over his small jar of parfait.

When she sat back down, his warm hand covered hers, and she looked up at him. His brows drew tightly together as his gray eyes examined her, roving across her face. She suppressed a shudder, unused to someone looking at her so critically. The closest anyone came was Ginny, but the Harpies kept her busy nowadays, allowing Hermione to fly under the radar.

“I’m going to send over a flask of modified Dreamless Sleep Potion I brewed the other day. You’ll only need four drops for a good night’s sleep.” He released her hand and picked up his spoon, tucking into his dessert.

Four drops? What in Morgana’s name had he been doing to grind himself down to the point where he needed to modify the potion to be that strong? Not to mention that it was an addictive potion.

“Frequent user?” She picked her own spoon up and followed suit.

“Sometimes, depending on my stress levels. I got tired of brewing it weekly and preferred to save potions ingredients for other interesting things. Now I brew it once a month and split it between Mother and I.” He sounded honest, but he’d hidden things from Voldemort before. More than that, it  _ felt _ honest. As someone who had told her share of lies, she should be able to recognize one if she heard it.

She mashed a berry against the roof of her mouth as she thought, savoring the sweetness of the juice as it intermingled with the tartness of the lemon curd and whipped cream.

“It certainly makes sense to conserve ingredients. Don’t feel as if you have to. I can always whip one up.”

“True, but the question is, will you?”

She swallowed and cut her eyes to the side in time to see him slide the upside-down spoon from his mouth as he sucked the thick lemon curd from its surface before swallowing.

“That’s what I thought. Hades will be by with it later.” He eyed her form. “Make that three drops. Over do it and I’ll have to come force feed you something exceptionally unpleasant to bring you out of the coma you’ll otherwise put yourself in.”

“Worse than Skele-gro?”

“Much.”

Her nose crinkled at the thought and she resumed eating, scraping the very last bits from the bottom edges. Their empty jars joined the other dishes in cleaning themselves and tidying themselves away.

“How much longer do you think it’ll be before Robards decides you’ve trained enough to be partnered?”

Draco tilted his head side to side as his eyes scanned her kitchen. “Maybe a few more weeks. Everything I’m already capable of doing combined with my experience cuts the process down drastically.” Gray eyes sought her own out again and his lips quirked on one side. “Don’t fret, we’ll be having our little lunch dates again in no time. Unless, of course, you’ve decided you’ve tired of me already.”

Her eyes widened, but it wasn’t his expression that caught her attention. Out of the bottom of her eye, she saw his pinky finger twitch before he tucked it under his other folded fingers.

“Don’t be silly, you’ll be the one to tire of me first, I’m sure.” She grinned, although fully believed what she said.

“ _ Never _ .” His eyes bore into hers as if willing her to believe him. 

She reviewed his posture as they stared at one another. He was relaxed, hands clasped on the bar, his chin on his shoulder as he watched her. He showed no signs of subconsciously influencing her with his posture.

“Never’s a long time,” she murmured. 

“Be that as it may, I wondered for years how the wonder twins put up with you, but now that we’ve become friends, I can’t quite imagine life without you again. You’re unlike anyone else I’ve ever met in private life.”

She bit her lip. She could never tell if his compliments were merely compliments or if he meant more by them. Hours had been spent analyzing and reanalyzing so many gestures she couldn’t trust what she remembered or how she remembered it. What she needed was a Pensieve; however, so far she hadn’t been able to justify the costs for one.

“You’re unlike anyone I’ve ever known either. I think I mentioned earlier, but if I didn’t, I’ll be glad when our lunches resume. I always feel like I’m off-kilter when we’re unable to meet.” Her heart thudded in her chest. That had sounded a bit much for two friends, but there it was.

“I often feel much the same.”

Hermione again worried the corner of her lip between her teeth and decided she was going to have to review what she now knew of him and weigh a multitude of variables the second he disappeared through the Floo.

He tilted towards her. “What are we going to see Saturday night?”

She blinked at the topic change before regaining her mental footing. “Erm,  _ The Magic Flute _ . It’s a work by Mozart.”

“Is it old?”

“It premiered in 1791, if that tells you anything.”

“Moderately old, compared to how long-lived Magic folk can be.”

She conceded with a nod. That was a magical aspect she hadn’t ever quite adapted to, nor put much into studying. The only thing she knew was Magic caused them to age at a sloth’s rate if they hadn’t warped themselves with Dark Magic.

“What’s it about?”

She shot him a grin. “And ruin the story? I don’t think so. You’ll just have to be patient.”

“You know I have none.” The corner of his mouth quirked up again.

“It’s a virtue, learn it.”

He scoffed, then pulled out his pocket watch and flipped it open. She barely caught the winking of the tiny green emeralds on the inside and wondered if he’d let her examine it one day. It was hard to quash her curiosity, but she’d learned that a wizard’s pocket watch was an intimate item due to the nature of how they were selected and gifted. It would be highly inappropriate for her to ask to see it. Possibly offensive, depending on the wizard.

“I need to get going, I have to be back at the Ministry before five and I have a few things to take care of first.” He got up and pulled his coat back on.

She walked him to the fireplace. “Thank you for dinner tonight. I’ve been absolutely knackered, so dinner would have been comprised of reheated pasta if I’d have bothered at all.”

When they reached the hearth, he turned to face her. “If you’re uncomfortable for any reason or think something’s wrong, Floo one of us. Owl one of us. Or better yet, pop over. None of us would think less of you. After everything that happened in the war, it’s understandable to be ill at ease sometimes. Self-preservation first.”

She chuckled and looked at the floor. “That’s quite Slytherin.”

“I’m serious, Hermione. If you think there’s something wrong, get out. Go to Potter, or the Weasel den, or come to mine. Always follow your instincts, they’ll guide you when everything else fails.” Strong hands grasped her upper arms and her head shot up, her hands automatically moving to rest awkwardly along the sides of his elbows. His brow crinkled as he studied her. “It’s not bravery to stand in the face of fear for no reason. Don’t risk yourself over some pride.”

“Okay,” she whispered.

Draco continued studying her until he was apparently satisfied with whatever he found. His thumbs brushed her biceps again before he dropped his hands back to his sides and stepped away.

He scooped out some Floo powder and turned back to her. “Don’t forget, three drops, Granger.” Then he disappeared in a swirl of green flames.

Dinner had been a pleasant surprise, even if he’d scared her out of her mind at first. Maybe she’d been so deeply asleep she simply didn’t hear the alarm. The prospect didn’t sit well with her. What good was setting up an alert system if it didn’t actually  _ alert _ her?

The comfort that had settled into her when Draco’d been there was already bleeding away, leaving her feeling the weight of her exhaustion once again. A yawn overtook her, and she stretched with it, cringing at the snapping and popping which always resulted in sleeping on the couch.

She waved her wand, casting a Tempus charm. It wasn’t even nine o’clock and yet she was planning on a nice bath and some relaxation time before submitting to sleep.

She retreated to her bathroom, filling the deep tub and adding some salts. Right before she started stripping down, a tapping came from the sitting room—Hades.

Her eyes swept each area as she moved through the house to let the owl in. Hades swooped over to perch on the stand she’d set up next to the desk in her living room. She took the box from his talons and extracted the small blue flask, holding it up to the light. Normally it was purple, but this iteration was blue with a faint glow to it. She hummed and deposited it on the desk. 

After a moment’s waffling, she darted to the fridge and pulled out another jar of parfait. She packed it in the box and tied it back to the owl’s leg before sending him back to his master.

She would send dessert to Harry, wouldn’t she? Of course she would. Maybe.  _ Depending _ . She shuffled the thought away as she stripped her clothing, charmed her hair up into a bun, and sank to her neck in the tub.

Maybe she should take what Ginny said more seriously. The topic felt like navigating a minefield, however. Back at school, he’d been a tremendous flirt if he wanted something. With the exception of herself, Draco had been known to charm witches left, right, and center if they were key to something he wanted. Anything from cooperation in a group project or a good time in the Dungeons. It turned out, the only one he’d thrown the M-word at was her—during their Second Year.

Even now, she’d seen him charm people: at the last gala, the hospital, the restaurants they’d visited for lunch, and even the clerks in a couple of shops. So what if he brought her dinner or sent her something to help her sleep? Something told her he didn’t drop in on Daphne Greengrass with potions or dinner, though. 

A thud resounded in the room as she dropped her head against the tub in frustration. Through one lens, she could see where Ginny was coming from. Through another, it was very Draco-like behavior to act like he was now that he wanted to be friends.

The box containing her new omnioculars was visible from her spot in the bath and the expensive gift nagged at her. Yet another point prodded her; the cost was pocket change to him. She huffed and sank further in the water until it rested across the bridge of her nose. Perhaps she should take France into account. Or not… Because that seemed like it was his way of atoning for being a miserable prat for seven years.

Fuck. She was going to have to start journaling this too, along with her running data and the data over her reactions to his touch. She’d started timing how long it took for the soothing feelings to dissipate after she’d gotten home after an outing. It was indicative that the longer they spent in each other’s presence, the longer the sensation lingered.

Something else nagged at her until she remembered how he’d entertained her at the gala. He’d shown her exceptionally rare magical plants, taken her back to the Pucey estate so she could hound his friend about all the details regarding the shrubbery, and he’d stayed by her side almost the entire night. He’d even played nice with her friends.

That behavior could serve multiple purposes though. With the iffy social situation he’d found himself in, working his way into her circle of friends served more than one purpose, aside from generally keeping the peace. Several were now his co-workers, and it made sense to make nice with her first since he’d hated her the most. Also, one could never have a large enough network nor too many allies.

She slowly exhaled through her nose, closing her eyes against the rising bubbles as they climbed up her skin to the surface.

Tomorrow, she would start an entirely new journal and see if she couldn’t break it down into a manageable form to examine. She’d be sure to charm this one to look like a Muggle dictionary, just in case someone decided to snoop through her desk or bag.

She sat up and began to wash; t was too late to be obsessing over these thoughts. She’d been tired earlier and was still physically tired, so it was best to cut her thoughts off before her brain took over.

The air was nippy as she climbed out of the tub and spelled herself dry, causing her nipples to harden. She hissed as the silk robe rasped across the sensitive flesh and caused gooseflesh to erupt along her body. The robe teased her skin as she walked to her bed, and it became clear she was going to have to have some time with her favorite toy. 

A few wand waves later told her she was the only one on the property. Another created a warding line in a five-foot radius around her bed. If someone was to break this one, they would get as close to a taste of Muggle electricity as one could get.

She shucked the robe and peeled her blankets back, arranging herself against the pillows until she was comfortable. Her hands trailed along her thighs, hips, stomach, and rib cage. Her fingertips teased her areolas and nipples before pinching them tightly. She whimpered when she let go and the blood came flooding back in. She really should invest in more toys, starting with a pair of nipple suckers or perhaps some clamps. Something vibrating was appealing, but she could make that happen with her wand.

She was going to have to pluck up the courage to ask Ginny if there were any Wizarding sex shops. There probably were, tucked away in one of the several little offshoot streets of Diagon. A thrusting toy was probably cheaper in a magical shop than a good one would cost in a Muggle store.

A groan fell from her mouth as she squeezed her nipples tightly again, rolling them between her fingers. One hand slid between her thighs to trace her lips, lightly dragging the tips of her nails against the heated flesh. She spread herself and drug a finger down her slit, collecting the wetness and returning it to her clit where she rubbed in languid circles.

Something pulled her attention away and she stilled. Had it been a sound? She held her breath as she listened. Silence reigned, and she felt absurd except for the feeling of being watched. She snatched her wand off the bed and waved it in complicated motions. Still alone.

She huffed a laugh and made a mental note to add in a day to her exposure therapy next week. She concluded that she was being ridiculous and made herself sink back against the pillows again. Her hand slipped back between her thighs to resume the attention to her clit, and her thoughts turned to what had become her guilty pleasure. Her eyes fell shut, and she envisioned silver eyes with wide pupils staring back at her. The visage from dinner of his pink tongue swiping some of the sauce from his bottom lip caused the heat building to flare.

It was too easy to imagine him hovering over her, on his knees between her spread thighs with one hand planted on the bed and the other wrapped tightly around his cock. Except for his cock, he remained fully clothed as he lingered over her naked form.

She summoned her vibe from the side table and clicked it on, pressing it against her clit and keening, arching her hips into the toy. She wandlessly spelled it to stay in place, freeing her hand to join the other in tormenting her aching nipples.

Her eyes clenched shut again, and fantasy Draco had his bottom lip pulled between his teeth, his eyes drinking her in as his hand worked his cock. His shirt strained across his shoulders and biceps from the position, and she recalled the firm muscles that lay beneath from when they’d danced. 

Everything else fell away as she circled her hips against the powerful vibrations. Fantasy Draco’s cheeks pinkened, his eyes boring into hers as he began to tense. She was so close, but the silver eyes pinning her in her fantasy warned her not to come yet with but a glance, and she whimpered. She wanted to come so badly, but more so she wanted to be good for him,  _ would _ be good under his silent demands.

His pacing began to stutter and he let out a tight groan as he finally came, shooting his hot seed in spurts across her belly. He sat back on his haunches as his chest heaved, cock spent and softening in his hand as his eyes continued to bore into hers. “Come” Draco said, and so she did. Her head thrashed against her pillows as she screamed and came apart, shaking with the force of it. When she came back down, she released the spell and magically cleaned both herself and the toy.

She put it away and hauled herself from the bed with her wand dangling from her fingers. She slipped the robe back on as she strode to the sitting room. The bottle of Dreamless Draught was where she left it, and she snatched it up before returning to her room. When she reached her bedroom door, a crawling sensation slithered up her back and her eyes darted about, gripping her wand more firmly.

Draco’s words came back to her, and she eyed the fireplace. She wrapped her robe tighter around herself before deciding she was just being silly again and letting her imagination run away with her. She stomped back to her bed determinedly and sat down. She screwed the top off of the bottle and extracted the dropper. Tilting her head back, she opened her mouth and dripped in only two drops. Her mouth tingled and the faint taste of lavender lingered. She stood, shucked the silk, and slid between the covers, pulling them to her chin. Her wand was stuffed under her pillow as she settled in on her side.

It was fine. There was no one here but herself. She was being absurd.

The feeling didn’t abate even as she floated away into sleep.

That night she dreamt of tumultuous gray eyes and warm hands that held her close, despite the potion that should have rendered her dreamless.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> See you all next Saturday! <3


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Huge thanks to my Alpha/Betas NuclearNik and Monica03, without them I would be a mess and this story would be a disaster. Also a huge thanks to my Omegas (pre-reader) MarshmallowMcGonagall and QuinTalon!
> 
> To everyone who reads, subscribes, bookmarks, comments/reviews, follows, reblogs, likes, etc: I appreciate you all SO VERY MUCH. With the length of my chapters and the editing process, it leaves little time to come back and interact (I'll still try, however!). I promise though, all of it makes me go starry eyed and flail about every single time.
> 
> Disclaimer: I own nothing.

It was a sunny day in London as Hermione waited outside the Leaky Cauldron. She and Draco had planned to meet here for their first foray into the Muggle world together. He hadn’t responded to wheedling when she’d made the request, so she’d resorted to a trick she pulled on Harry when he was being his most difficult. She’d simply widened her eyes at him with the tiniest of pouts as her shoulders curled in. His eyes narrowed as his nostrils flared. 

“Fine,” he said from between clenched teeth.

It was something she would have to use sparingly, but at least she knew what would be effective if she really wanted something.

At exactly noon, he stepped from the pub looking as put together as always in a light gray three-piece suit, a crisp white shirt, black tie, and black winklepicker boots. The suit seemed to lighten his eyes to more silver than gray. He found her quickly and cocked a brow.

“Italian sound good to you? I know a place near here that I used to eat at with my parents,” she said as he stepped up next to her.

“Fine with me, but I doubt it’ll measure up to anything in Diagon.” His hand went to her back, guiding her closer to him as they blended into the crowd.

“Oh please, this is better than Armando’s ever thought about.” She cut her eyes over to him. He was subtly looking around, taking in the Muggle world as they bustled along.

Draco may have sought out a Muggle church once or twice, but it was obvious he wasn’t used to the outside world in the middle of the day.

His left hand seemed casual in his pocket, but from her experience, she knew it was resting on the handle of his wand. Just in case.

The crowd pressed them close together and his hand slipped to her waist. He was warm where he pressed against her side, and she stole a glance from beneath her lashes. He was alert, his eyes scanning the area as if waiting for an ambush.

Finally, she pulled him off Shaftesbury Avenue and onto a quieter, less populated street. She didn’t miss the way the set of his shoulders relaxed infinitesimally, but she didn’t comment. He kept his hand casually on her waist as they completed the short journey to Bocca Di Lupo.

She gave her name to the host, and he seated them immediately.

Draco perused the menu curiously. “I’ll admit, I expected it to be pasta from bottom to top but this reminds me more of one of the places Mother dragged me to when we visited Italy at the end of our house arrest.”

“I haven’t been to Italy in years. Mum and Dad took me as a little girl once. Usually, they preferred France.” She kept her eyes moving over the menu despite already knowing what she wanted. 

Hermione didn’t know why, but she felt like talking to him about her parents. They’d been weighing on her mind as of late, and she’d had to refrain from spying on them through their windows from under the invisibility cloak.

She glanced up and caught him staring at her, his brows drawn ever so slightly and his head tipped to the side. 

He studied her for a few moments. “What was your favorite holiday?”

She thought back through the years and settled on the summer before she’d turned fifteen. “We went to Greece one summer for three weeks, and I got to see so many historical landmarks, monuments, and ruins. Mum and Dad let me plan the entire thing.”

“What part do you remember the most?”

She closed her eyes and thought back. She hadn’t told her parents, but she had centered part of the holiday around finding magical aspects of Greece, especially what was actually truth or fiction of mythology.

“We were at Crete and had just arrived by boat to Port Panormos and while Mum and Dad were checking into the hotel, I stood on the beach, staring out at the Aegean Sea, feeling so small and wondering what history had seen those shores in the very place I stood.” She could still clearly see the waves in the afternoon light and feel the sea air as it whipped her hair about.

“What were you doing in Crete?” 

She opened her eyes to see his brows furrowed tighter than before.

Her fingers clenched her skirt. “I was looking to see if there was any truth to the Minotaur.”

His nostrils flared as his jaw clenched. “And what did you find?” he asked from between his teeth.

“That they’re real and magically contained away from the Muggles.” She swallowed. It was clear he was angry, but this had been several years ago.

“I want you to promise me that you won’t go looking for monsters on your own again. Minotaurs and other creatures like them aren’t to be trifled with even by capable adult wizards unless it’s by an experienced hunting party.” He leaned in towards her as he spoke, voice carefully even. 

She could have sworn his irises flashed silver. She blinked, and they were as tempestuous gray as they always were when he was upset. 

“ _ Promise. _ ”

“Okay, all right, I promise! Calm down, Draco. I’ve faced enough monsters, I’m not interested in hunting any more down.” Her hand covered his as he pressed it into the table. She took a page from his book and stroked her thumb across the backs of his knuckles.

He took a deep breath, let it out slowly, and relaxed into his seat. Draco sat back and flipped his hand under hers, entangling their fingers. “You’re so fearless, Hermione. The idea of you ending up face-to-face with a beast like that by yourself…” He clenched his jaw again as he looked away, and she squeezed his fingers.

She understood. It was reminiscent of how she’d felt during the Triwizard Cup when Harry had been facing the dragon. Though surrounded by capable witches and wizards who could have stepped in at any time, the danger her friend faced terrified her.

“I didn’t attempt the maze,” she muttered.

His eyes cut back to her. “You  _ found _ the maze?”

She nodded, and he let a breath slide from him.

“So what stopped you? Did your parents even know where you’d gone?” 

She bit her lip and peeked up to find his eyes boring into her again. “No. They thought I was off sightseeing on a group tour at Knossos, and for the most part I was, until I ditched them and deviated off the path. I explored for about an hour before I found the entrance in the lower level of a ruin.” She shuddered, but couldn’t tear her eyes from his. “It felt like something was calling me but once I got there, I couldn’t make myself enter, although, at the same time I couldn’t bring myself to leave. There’s no telling how long I stood there; at some point, the sound of bellowing broke me out of the trance I’d been in. I fled while clear from the haze. I didn’t go back.”

His tongue ran along his teeth as his fingers squeezed hers. “It was hungry and using magic to draw you in like so many before you. Its fury when you didn’t follow through, allowed you to escape.”

She almost asked how he knew, but he loved learning as much as she did and he had several years of a head start on her in terms of magical education. He probably knew all sorts of things about magical creatures around the world, which would explain why he’d been so disappointed in Care of Magical Creatures classes at Hogwarts. 

“I honestly didn’t think it was real. Even when I visited the magical community, there wasn’t any talk of it. No sort of warning in the booklets for tourists to stay away.” She bit her lip as thoughts on what this could mean for other bouts of mythology filled her head.

“They keep it a secret from most people. Their version of Unspeakables have studied it for centuries, but you can buy certain members of the Greek Ministry of Magic if you have the right contacts. You were just unlucky enough for the beast to detect because of how magically powerful you are. It doesn’t happen often, but from my understanding goats and sheep get old and it can’t resist at least trying for a morsel now and again.”

“It’s been alive for centuries?”

His brow slowly rose. “Yes, Granger. It’s the only one in known existence. It seems near impossible to kill, and my personal theory is that it extends its life with the people it eats, similar to how vampires live practically forever. That would explain why it can subvert Wizarding magic every so often to acquire prey—out of survival.”

For someone who’d unknowingly come exceptionally close to death via a mythical, magical beast, she was now interested in what she would have found at the center of the maze.

The waiter appeared precisely as she was leaning in to ask a question. They sent him away with orders for roast partridge with bagna cauda and polenta with wild boar stracotto.

She turned her attention back to Draco. He’d shifted back in his seat, silently tapping two fingers on the back of her hand. “I still have the research.”

“But?”

“But you have to take a wizard’s oath that you won’t go gallivanting off to Crete when you’re done with it.”

“I told you I was through chasing monsters!”

“Oh, I’m aware. You promised you wouldn’t, but I don’t quite trust your voracious hunger for knowledge not to sway you in the end. That’s why I insist on something more formal to deter such impulses.” 

She huffed and glared at him. “Even if I wanted to run off to Crete or Bangladesh or Egypt, it’s not like there’s anything holding me to England. I could take up research and hunting creatures like Luna did. Some globetrotting would probably do me some good, in fact.”

His eyes resembled granite. “Hermione.”

She realized their fingers still lay entangled on the tabletop and yanked hers free. The strange effect his touch wrought wouldn’t help her here. He blinked and for a moment looked as if she’d slapped him before he slid his now empty hand to his lap.

“Just because we’re friends now doesn’t mean you can tell me what I can and cannot do, Draco Malfoy.” Her face was warm, and she knew her cheeks were pinkening in her anger. Her heart picked up as the peaceful feelings receded to a mere simmer.

“I’m not trying to control you, Granger. If your friends found out I gave you any sort of motive to go run off and do life-threatening things on your own, I’m fairly certain they would maul me and keep me in their basement for torture purposes until you came back. Besides, I would insist on something similar out of Pansy should she have the notion to go do something terrifyingly reckless, so I’m not sure why you think I wouldn’t do the same with you.” He’d leant forward while he spoke as if trying to impress upon her the factuality of the scenario. 

She knew what Harry and Ron were capable of, and he wasn’t wrong. 

“While true, you can’t just  _ demand _ such things. You can  _ ask _ me and I’ll consider your concerns, but nobody is going to stop me if I want to do something. Not Harry, not Ron, not Ginny, and not you.” 

His lips puckered during her little tirade. 

She didn’t want to fight with him. “However, if the cost is a Wizard’s oath to get the material, then I will give it.”

It didn’t mean she wouldn’t arrange for a group adventure to happen at some point for research purposes, but that lay outside of their current discussion. She would abide by his thought that she needed a hunting party. She would even invite him along if the plans ever came to fruition. There would be time to scheme on that later when he wasn’t around to correctly analyze every facial expression.

She laid her hand back on the table, and it was only a few moments before his reappeared as well. She hooked his pinky with hers and gave in to the relaxing sensation, bringing her shoulders back down from around her ears. He was able to wind her up unlike any other man she’d ever met.

Draco watched her for a few more moments as if waiting for more of a fight. He wouldn’t be receiving it today, however. She’d already had a spectacular row with Ron the day before during a rare visit to the Burrow when she’d finally divulged what she’d done with her disappearance to France. It was enough to last her a while on that front. Finally satisfied there would be no additional negotiations or caveats, he nodded once and curled his finger around hers.

He was surprisingly affectionate for a snake. He wasn’t obvious with it like her usual band of cohorts, but it was there nonetheless. It wasn’t unusual for Harry to drag her along by the hand through a crowd, or for one of the Weasley sons to do something like cover her hand with theirs if she was having a hard time.

“Is Robards finally done with sending you through the wringer?”

“Finally. He’s giving me a few days off after putting me through months of continuous day in, day out hell.”

She leaned in and grinned. “Does that mean I have a chance at bribing you into going to the symphony with me?”

Their outing to the opera had been delightful and dinner afterwards had been even better. Draco had paid careful attention to the story and was remarkably amenable to avid discussion subsequently.

He rolled his eyes. “Bribery isn’t required. I had a good time at the opera. It was much better than I’d anticipated so I’m open to giving other Muggle means of entertainment a try. I’m going to have to decline your offer though because it’s my turn to take you to something. How would you feel about attending a Wizarding circus?”

Her heart had dropped into her stomach before launching itself into her throat. She’d never heard of a Wizarding Circus before. “I had no idea those existed. I’ve been to Muggle ones before, of course. What are they like?”

“Shan’t spoil the surprise. I’ve only been to a couple myself, but to my knowledge, there are only two. A Russian wizarding family so ancient it makes the Blacks and Malfoys both seem like newcomers in comparison own both. They’re run by a set of twin brothers who hate one another so vehemently they each stay with their leg of the circus as close to the opposite side of the globe from one another as they can get.” 

“Sounds intriguing. I’d love to go. If they hate each other so much, how do they know where the other is so precisely?”

“Their sisters manage them; otherwise, we’d have a world-wide crisis on our hands regarding the International Statute of Secrecy being flouted in an all-out war between the two troupes. It would make our most recent war look like a game of Gobstones.”

She shuddered at that. The one they’d lived through had been more than enough for her, thank you very much. The idea of attending the circus was exciting, though.

Their food and wine arrived, and she secretly watched as he took a bite of the game bird. He chewed slowly, his eyes closed as he took in the rich flavors. Hermione had discovered he had a penchant for doing this when trying something new. If she had a guess, it was simply his way of blocking everything else out for a first impressions analysis. They ate mostly in silence until their plates were clean.

She hoped he liked it so she could convince him to go with her to other Muggle restaurants. Diagon Alley only had so many eateries.

“Has Robards informed you of what your schedule will be like?”

“He’s trying to implement a new system now that he has enough people to encourage ‘work-life balance.’ Apparently whatever they’d been doing before was driving people to want to resign. Can’t say I blame them, though, nobody wants to live at work. Work four days, have three off, work three days, have four off is the idea. More hours in the workday, but it’s a trade-off. I’ve heard from the others that you’d end up working the same daily amount anyway most days.” 

“That should make people a lot happier, then. I don’t imagine Ginny would tolerate it very well if Harry was working so much once she’s done with her Quidditch career and settling down as a mum.”

“That’s all the world needs: a Weasley-Potter progeny.”

She cut her eyes to him with a glare. He merely shrugged.

“I hope they have seven just for that comment. Luckily for you, it’ll be a few years yet before they start trying for a family. Harry said he wants to do some living before making the leap to parenthood.”

“Thank Merlin for small favors.”

She scoffed, then caught sight of the waiter. A wicked smirk to rival Draco’s curved her mouth, and she caught the movement as he leaned back ever so slightly in his seat. His head tilted as he studied her, but he quickly figured out what she was on about when the waiter left the check in a black leather booklet on their table.

He scowled at it hard enough that she was momentarily concerned that it was about to be magicked away in his displeasure. She snatched it from his view, peeked at it, then stuffed enough notes inside it to cover their bill and stuck it on the far side of the table.

He stood when she did, giving the check one last dirty look before stealing her hand and pulling her out into the rare London sunshine as he muttered about next time. If they did go to eat in Muggle London again, it would become a competition as to who could snatch it up first.

“So, after we go to the circus, what about the symphony?”

“I’m amenable if you agree to see a magical play and symphony.”

“Done. I’m excited to see what wizards have come up with in terms of props and effects. Muggle methods have become impressive over the years, but I’m sure it can’t touch what magic can do.”

“It depends on the production, of course. A poorly written story can ruin the whole thing. I usually attend a theater known for being discerning about what they allow to be put on.” As they stepped back on to Shaftesbury Avenue, his fingers slipped from her grasp and moved to her waist, keeping her close to him in the thick crowd. It was all she could do not to press against his side. 

Her restraint managed to stay intact all the way to the Leaky Cauldron, where she watched him depart through the Floo to finish his workday. She’d itched to ask him if Harry had been on his best behavior, but refrained. She didn’t want it to seem like she was having to run interference. From what she gathered during the course of their lunch outings thus far, Draco wanted to fight his own battles now that he was more than capable of doing so.

That didn’t mean she wasn’t going to interrogate Harry about the goings-on in the Department. Draco may be able to take whatever the others dished out, but it made her hackles rise at the mere thought of anyone giving him grief.

She picked up a few things from Diagon Alley, lingering in Flourish and Blotts for an inordinate amount of time like she used to, just to browse the new arrivals before Apparating back home. It felt good to shop by herself and not want to rush home immediately. 

Once she put away the shopping, she sat gracelessly on the couch to fill out a journal entry about her interactions with Draco. They’d had verbal sparring matches before, but today was their first actual spat, and she had many speculations to record. Chiefly that she was able to pull away and maintain her anger.

Whatever bizarre thing was influencing her, it was a relief to know that she could still be upset and stern with him if need be. It’d been a concern of hers since the beginning, whether or not she’d be able to resist him under the influence of his touch. 

When she put the journal away in her bag, she took a moment to look around the sitting room. Something seemed off, but she couldn’t put her finger on what it was. Nothing was out of place, but it was as if someone had picked up everything and put it down not quite the same way it’d been before, though the notion was unreasonable.

Despite knowing that her wards were all but impenetrable, there was still a little part of her that knew something was wrong.

“You’re being silly,” she told herself.

As if to make a point, she laid over on the couch, stuffed a pillow beneath her head, and closed her eyes.

_ There’s nothing. There’s nothing. There’s nothing. _

However, it was as if she could detect an aura, as if someone was leaning over to examine her up close. She’d learned to tell the difference if it was a magical person or a Muggle from the close quarters she kept with her parents in the small house when she was home from Hogwarts for part of the summer. With Ron and Harry, it was markedly different. When they leaned in, it was almost as if orbits were colliding, meshing together. Nearly a tangible thing as if their magic radiated out of them.

It was all in her head though; it had to be. She was a logical being and logic dictated if nothing could get through her wards, then there was nothing there, regardless of her overactive imagination.

She clenched her eyes closed and tucked her arms against her chest. Maybe she should talk to Draco and see if he was experiencing any sort of relapse. Or if not, ask if he knew what relapse really looked like in their situation. That would be her luck, to go through all of those extreme treatments and do everything perfectly afterwards only to crumble in the end. She’d been sleeping better on the nights she’d taken the Dreamless Sleep potion, but had limited her usage.

All of her thoughts came to a screeching halt when the feel of warm breath ghosted across her cheek and Draco’s words came slamming back into her.  _ “Don’t put yourself at risk over some pride. Go to Potter’s or the Weasel den or come to mine.” _

Hermione shot up off the couch, and it was as if she brushed by something as she launched herself onto the balls of her feet, her wand and bag in hand as she reached the Floo. The flowerpot that held Floo powder was nearly empty as she scooped up just enough to throw down, call her destination, and disappear in a swirl of green flames.

She stepped out and waved her wand over herself to eliminate the soot from travel. The room was on the smaller side with a settee and a table with a bowl of fruit. It was likely a traveling or reception room. While she wasn’t hungry, she was glad to know she had some sort of option without digging deep in her bag—unless they were wax—because she didn’t exactly know when Draco would be back home. At least she knew France hadn’t cured her preparedness fixation.

Hermione cast a  _ tempus _ charm and realized it would be a while before Draco got back home from work, so she sat in the corner of the settee and tilted her head back against the plush cushion. She was still tired but had been getting better sleep whether it was thanks to Draco’s Dreamless Sleep potion, the line around her bedroom she’d erected, or otherwise.

Just a few minutes, she told herself. She settled in the warm, comfortable seat, and closed her eyes. Just a few minutes.

It wasn’t the roar of the Floo that woke her, but strong fingers as they grasped her shoulders and gently shook. 

“Hermione? Hermione. Wake up.”

She blinked the sleep from her eyes and sat up, trying to get her vision to focus again. 

Draco sat down next to her, waiting until she was fully coherent again. “What’s wrong? What happened?”

“What time is it?”

“Half-past five.”

That meant she’d been asleep for over an hour and a half. Blood rushed to her cheeks as she ducked her head. “Er, sorry. I didn’t mean to just invade your house, but you said a few nights ago to damn my pride if something seemed wrong. I can’t shake the feeling that someone is there regardless of what the results of my detection spells are. I feel like I’m going mad. Is this what relapse looks like?” Her fingers gripped her skirt until her knuckles were white. Her shoulders curled in and she wished she would evaporate. Regardless of how it seemed in her head, when said aloud, she sounded like she’d gone round the bend entirely.

His fingers left her shoulder to slip beneath her chin. He tilted her head back up and waited until she met his eyes. “You’re not going mad. You spent Merlin knows how long cooped up in that house of yours and suffered trauma when you ventured outside of it. If that didn’t break you down, then I don’t think there’s much that will. There’s clearly something going on, and we’re going to figure it out.” 

He was so confident that there was no way she couldn’t believe him.

“Thank you,” she whispered. The tension drained from her, and she uncurled her fingers from the fabric she’d been clinging to.

To have someone acknowledge that perhaps she wasn’t a nutter was comforting. There was a reason she hadn’t gone to Ron or Harry. Ron would have outright dismissed her as crazy, but Harry was a gamble. If he didn’t believe her, he wouldn't have said it like Ron would. Harry was more of the sort that would question things he found strange until you doubted yourself. Draco, however, was entirely different. He was a more rational man and fully understood that just because something wasn’t apparent, that didn’t mean nothing was happening. She was sure his exposures to different magics, the influence of his parents, and the time immersed in Slytherin culture had something to do with it.

“There’s no need to thank me. Can you stay with Potter and Red tonight? I have a few ideas. I’d like to investigate your house and the surrounding areas without you there as a variable, if that’s all right.” 

She nodded. “That’s fine. Ginny’s wanted me to come over for a girls’ night for forever now. I’ll pop back home and Floo call her.”

“Not without me. Give me just a moment and we’ll go together.”

She nodded, and he strode from the room, returning a few moments later with a black leather bag. It made her think of the sort that traveling doctors used to carry their supplies in. She got to her feet and followed him through the Floo, back to her house to find everything as it had been before she ran away.

Draco pulled his wand and cast some detection spells to see if they were alone. When he confirmed they were, he went over and sat at the bar while Hermione contacted Ginny.

Ginny was only too happy to have her over and didn’t ask too many questions about what brought the desire on, just demanded Hermione come over immediately.

When she disconnected the call, she got up and went to her room, throwing together an overnight bag. “Just one night, right?” She raised her voice so it would reach to the kitchen.

“Yes.” His voice came from right behind her ear, and she screamed. She would have launched herself across the bed if Draco hadn’t grasped her arms, snickering lowly.

She stomped at his foot, and he skittered back out of her reach before releasing her.

“You rude bastard.” She glared over her shoulder as she slammed the bag closed and latched it.

“Couldn’t resist.” He shrugged, unapologetic.

Hermione glared as she jerked the bag off the bed and stalked from the room. He made his steps audible this time as he followed along behind her.

He caught her hand when she reached up to the flowerpot and spun her around, neatly dodging the bag as it swung with the momentum. “Don’t be mad. I’ll owl you when I’m done and let you know when you can come back, all right?”

She huffed and made to pull her wrist from him until he caught her fingers, rubbing his thumb across her knuckles.

“I’ll let it go this time,” she grumbled. 

“Oh, how magnanimous of you.”

“Only this time, though.” Her lips quirked into a grin. “There are some fresh blueberry scones in the kitchen and some clotted cream in the fridge if you want some. Thank you for doing this for me.” She was serious by the end, staring up into his face.

“You’re welcome. I’ll let you know what I find, if I find anything that is. I’ll add a couple of speciality wards. Now, go have fun with Red.” He gave her fingers a light squeeze before spinning her back towards the fireplace and releasing her.

She made her way over, scooped up some Floo powder and stepped onto the grate. The powder granules dug into her skin like sand as she took a last look at him. Had he not had a legitimate reason for her not to be there, she would have insisted on staying. She wasn’t thrilled at the idea of him being here alone with whatever entity had invaded her space, if there actually was one.

“Goodnight, Draco. Be careful.”

He nodded, and she dropped the powder at her feet, taken away in a swirl of green flames as she called out for Grimmauld Place.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> See you all next Saturday! <3


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope everyone is staying safe and staying away from people. Wash your hands, hunker down, look after each other, stay home unless you absolutely have to leave and we'll get through this!
> 
> Huge thanks to my Alpha/Betas NuclearNik and Monica03, without them I would be a mess and this story would be a disaster. Also a huge thanks to my Omegas (pre-reader) MarshmallowMcGonagall and QuinTalon!
> 
> To everyone who reads, subscribes, bookmarks, comments/reviews, follows, reblogs, likes, etc: I appreciate you all SO VERY MUCH. With the length of my chapters and the editing process, it leaves little time to come back and interact (I'll still try, however!). I promise though, all of it makes me go starry eyed and flail about every single time.
> 
> Disclaimer: I own nothing.

Hermione sat on a bench studying the Artemis Fountain as her fingers dragged back and forth across the handle of the picnic basket next to her. She’d offered to make their lunch today, and Draco had readily agreed. He always took her to lunch or brought food to her place. She was unused to such treatment and realized it was currently her only avenue of repaying the favor. After her trick at the Muggle restaurant, he’d been sure to keep a stack of pounds in his wallet, just in case.

She also wanted to do something nice for him after what he’d done for her the day she’d fled to his house and fell asleep in his traveling room. While she’d had homemade pasta and drank a few bottles of wine with Ginny, Draco had been putting his newly acquired Auror skills to use. For hours he combed over her house, casting diagnostic and detection charms. When he turned up nothing, he took down her wards one by one, examining the layering and everything they covered. When he put them back in place, he’d added a few. 

Hermione discovered everything he’d put in place in addition to her own set through the letter he’d owled her. She’d never thought about adding protection specifically against scrying or other spying methods. She’d done some reading on the subject since then and found some disturbing things one could do with mirrors and crystal balls outside of fortune-telling rubbish. He’d mentioned a few other things, but she’d yet to get to the books she’d bought on those topics. Ever since then, she’d been free of the oppressive specter. It left the question as to who was spying on her to begin with.

Over the past week, Hermione set herself to looking for a job. To her disappointment, the apprentice position under Mr. Dervish had been filled before she’d been able to apply. Much to her frustration, both the job boards and the Daily Prophet’s wanted ads had been scant. Before France, both had been full to bursting with  _ Help Wanted _ adverts. Now there were but a few raggedy slips of paper with less than appealing positions. She’d even checked the board in Nocturn Alley just to find similar results. 

She was sure that Borgin and Burkes would sooner make her disappear her than give any CV she handed over the  _ slightest _ consideration. The only other one that was even remotely acceptable was a sales clerk position at Quality Quidditch Supplies. The pay was less than impressive and—more importantly—she had no interest in working with sporting goods of any sort except maybe tents and camping gear, but that was another store. She could give the pros and cons of practically any model out there, after all.

Flipping her wrist over, she peeked at her watch. There were still a few minutes before Draco was set to arrive. She’d debated whether or not to tell him she’d tried both job boards but knew she may as well if he asked. Word was likely shooting through the circuit like Fiendfyre that she’d been spotted looking at the jobs board there. She’d already received a displeased note from Harry over it, which said if she was going to go down there she could at least take his invisibility cloak.

She caught movement out of the corner of her eye and turned her head to see Draco strolling towards her in his jet black and silver Auror robes, hands in his pockets. Instead of sitting, however, he nimbly swiped the basket from the bench and offered her his hand. She took it and allowed him to pull to her feet.

“Where are we going?” She laced their fingers together as he pulled her towards the closest Wizarding area.

“We’re having a picnic, are we not?” he asked as he held up the basket.

“Well, yes, but I figured we’d just eat on the bench so I didn't bring a blanket.” Her face burned with her admission. She’d just have to go through a couple of things and dig one out of her bag.

He cocked a brow at her. “It just so happens that I’m a wizard, so that’s a non-issue. Stop fretting.” He gave her fingers a squeeze before pulling her off the path and heading to the shade of a giant oak tree.

Once there, he handed the basket back to her and plucked a soft-looking gray handkerchief from his pocket. With a wave of his fingers, it enlarged itself to a giant blanket that he spread out in the shade.

She sank to her knees, while he sat down in his own spot, and unpacked the hamper of food as he shed his jacket and rolled his sleeves to just above his elbows. She’d made coronation chicken sandwiches on fresh-baked bread, a cheese plate, crackers, scones, lemonade, crisps, an assortment of diced fruit, and miniature caramel apple pie tartelettes. Since he’d started his Auror position, he’d become partial to lighter fare for lunchtimes, so she’d packed accordingly.

They loaded their plates and ate in companionable silence. When she’d finished, he was reclined back on his elbows, head tilted back with his eyes closed. 

“How’s the job hunt going, Granger?”

She muttered under her breath as she broke a tartelette in half and shoved part of it into her mouth.

“I’m sorry, didn’t quite catch that. Can you give us a replay?”

She swallowed the bite and sighed. “I said it’s abysmal. A couple of months ago everything was jammed full of wanted adverts. Now I’m looking at being a sales clerk at the Quidditch shop or Borgin and Burkes.” Her fingers clenched together as she watched for his reaction.

His nose wrinkled at the mention of Borgin and Burkes. “What about the plants you’d been on about with Longbottom?”

Her brow scrunched. “It’s odd, Neville’s been awful busy with something. Every time I try to meet up with him, he’s unavailable, but he’s sent some tentative plans.” She almost wondered if Neville had been hoping she’d just move on.

“He’s not avoiding you if that’s what you’re concerned about.”

“How do you know that?”

“Remember when I said that I was helping Adrian with his Potions Mastery?”

“Yes.”

“I found out Longbottom’s the one who’s been helping Adrian with all of his special plant projects. We passed each other one day when I was leaving and he was coming over for drinks.”

She blinked at him. “That sounds… intimate.”

His lips twitched, and he cracked a gray eye open to watch her.

“Really?” Her eyes popped wide at everything he didn’t have to say. 

His shoulders shook with repressed laughter.

She looked at her lap and frowned. It made her wonder if other friends were keeping things from her. First Ron and now Neville.

He poked her knee. “Adrian’s just intensely private. He wants to know something is going to work before making any sort of public appearances or informing anyone, even people in his circle. If I hadn’t passed Longbottom in the hallway, I’d still be in the dark.”

It made her feel a bit better to know Neville was likely doing it at Adrian’s behest instead of just not wanting her to know.

She shrugged. “It’s just that two of my friends in recent months have kept important things from me. I was always among the first to be told in the past, and now it seems they want to treat me like I’m candy floss.”

“If you were that finely spun you’d be committed somewhere. I usually figured out what my friends were up to before they told me, so they just developed a habit of not doing so.” He finally crossed his arms behind his head and lay back into the soft, plush fabric.

She slumped down after a moment until she was lying on her side, watching him. He looked relaxed in a way she’d yet to see. In public, he was always poised, and even in private he always had a certain rigidity about him. Now though, he seemed to be able to loosen that iron grip just a smidge. What brought that about? Whatever it was, she hoped it would be a continuing trend. Maybe he would finally take his boots off when he came to her house.

The vision of his pointy, black boots sitting neatly next to her favorite gray flats and pink trainers made a warmth bloom in her chest. It was something so simplistic, but to her it represented a level of comfort from him she desperately wanted to reach. She couldn’t put her finger on why, except that perhaps they were the same age, had known each other for over half their lives now and were just starting to actually know one another. Building their relationship was vastly different than other friendships she’d worked on because usually, it started upon meeting.

With a jolt, she realized he’d fallen asleep. She’d been studying him so hard she’d missed the transition from relaxation to slumber, and she wanted to kick herself for it. To the casual observer, the changes might not be clear, but to her keen eye, it was obvious. His breathing had slowed, the muscles in his legs and biceps had relaxed, and his forehead had smoothed out. So often it was crinkled with some sort of emotion unless he was intentionally putting on a blank face. His eyes were tinted faint purple along his lash lines, and she wondered when he’d slept last, especially since he’d essentially passed out here in the middle of the park.

She looked around and realized how out of the way they were from other people. She could see people walking along the pathways, but nobody else was in the area enjoying the last vestiges of summer like they were. Before she knew it, the trees would be changing colors and losing their leaves for the year.

Her eyes trailed back to her companion as he snoozed peacefully. He sucked in a deep breath and tilted his face towards her, his mouth opening ever so slightly. Her fingers itched to reach out and trace along his cheek, so she curled them into the blanket in order to refrain. If he was gorgeous when awake, then he was exquisite in slumber.

There had never been urges to do things like that with Harry or really even Ron, so why was it becoming an ever-increasing problem to keep her hands to herself around Draco? True, they held hands when together, especially in crowded areas, but there was a reason they sought out that simple touch. She was still working on why that was and had continued taking diligent notes. She’d even made a special trip to Flourish and Blotts in an effort to research the subject. Her recent job search had kept her from that point of fascination as well. She must’ve written and rewritten her CV at least two dozen times by now.

He rolled to his side, tucking one arm beneath his cheek. The other stretched itself across the expanse towards her, as if subconsciously seeking her out. His eyes fluttered for the briefest moment before he settled back down. Her eyes trailed along his arm, and she bit her lip. She released the blanket from one white-knuckled grip and slid her hand across it until their fingertips were touching, then slipped her fingers beneath his. The tension bled from her and it was so tempting to follow him into sleep, but she didn’t know when she’d get another chance to see him like this again. 

His fingers gently squeezed hers as gray eyes fluttered back open, and he rubbed his face against his bicep as he came back to the world. His brow furrowed as he looked around them and finally settled his gaze on her as if he was figuring out what exactly had happened. His fingers slipped from hers as he abruptly sat up.

“That was exceptionally rude of me to fall asleep during our lunch. I apologize.” He scrubbed at his eyes as his forehead wrinkled.

“Don’t be silly. It’s a perfectly normal reaction to being full, and warm, and comfortable. If we’d been somewhere familiar, I would likely be passed out myself right now.”

“Still, I regret not spending the time with you.” He pulled out his watch and checked the time as he blinked the rest of the sleep away.

Her heart flip-flopped, and she clenched her fingers in the fabric again.

“Do you have to be heading back so soon?”

“No, I’m making up for time lost yesterday when I wasn’t given time for lunch.”

Her eyes narrowed as he nonchalantly broke another tartelette in half and began eating it. 

“And  _ why _ exactly weren’t you given time for lunch?” 

He pointed to his mouth where he slowly chewed, indicating he wasn’t presently able to speak.

As soon as he swallowed, he neatly shoved the rest of the tartelette in his mouth and raised his hands palm up at the expression that had taken over her face, as if he’d had no choice but to remain silent and not give her the explanation she wanted.

His eyes darted to the Tupperware she’d packed with the treats. With a surprising move of speed and agility, Hermione snatched the container from his reaching fingertips, snapped the lid on, and shoved them behind her back. He remained frozen, leaning on one arm with wide eyes and the fingers of his other hand resting where the plastic tub had been only a second ago. She shouldn’t have been able to snatch those from him like she did, but somehow she had.

“That’s cheating!”

“No, it’s not!”

“Is so.”

“No! Cheating is you shoving these into your gob to keep from answering me!” She scowled.

“Granger. Give me those tarts back.”

“They’re tartelettes, learn the difference.”

“Same thing.”

“Are not.”

“ _ Yes, _ they are.”

“ _ No, they’re not _ !”

He rose up onto his knees, and she cursed under her breath as she sprang to her feet. 

She didn’t hear him but knew he was now upright as well and after her as she took off across the grass. She wove between trees, too afraid of running into one to peek over her shoulder and gauge his progress. She took a gamble and circled around an ancient oak tree, speeding back towards their picnic blanket. It’d been a while since she’d full-on sprinted as hard as she could, but the feel of the adrenaline as it pounded through her veins to the cadence of her heart was addictive. It was clean in a way that her self-imposed training was not.

A shriek of laughter ripped from her throat as two arms wrapped around her waist and lifted her feet from the ground. He slowed down and finally stopped next to their spot. Her feet were well above the ground, and he made no move to put her back down. He shifted her to one hip and made to let go with one arm when she shoved the container out from herself, holding it by her fingers as far away as she could get it from him. 

“Granger. Give me the tarts.”

“I don’t have any tarts.”

His huff of exasperation ruffled the hairs on the back of her neck that had come down out of the bun.

“I never pegged you for a sadist.”

Her head whipped around to look at him. “That’s because I’m not one.”

“Obviously you are if you’re gleefully keeping my favorite dessert from me.”

“Must I remind you that you started this?”

“Did not. I was eating, and you took the rest from me.”

“You know damn well,  _ Draco Malfoy _ , that you were using these tartelettes to keep from answering me. All you have to do is give me the information I desire and you can have the rest of them.”

He began trying to shift her again when she grabbed his arm and twisted in his grasp to where she could look him in the eye. She felt him wobble and stilled immediately.

“Granger.”

“Malfoy.”

“Give me the tarts!”

“Just tell me and you can have every last crumb!”

She moved to shift again when he let go of her and darted out a hand, tilting her backward as he reached for the prize.

Hermione yelped at the motion and threw her knees up on either side of his hips, stretching herself even further away like Crookshanks used to do when he didn’t want to be picked up.

He growled against her shoulder, and she couldn’t suppress the shudder that ran along her spine at the feel of his rumble. She peeked down to see him staring hotly over her shoulder where the Tupperware was just out of his reach by less than an inch. His eyes cut to the side to watch her for a moment. Then his fingers closed around her wrist and began to pull.

“CHEATING!” she screeched into his shoulder as she tried to resist.

She crossed her shins over his thighs, planted her hand on his shoulder and levered herself further away from him, paying no mind to how she’d shoved his face into her cleavage as they shifted with the motion. She’d wrenched her arm from his grasp and was now waving the Tupperware well above their heads, cackling. 

She didn’t realize how much of a precarious position she’d put them in until she’d shoved her body where Draco’s arm grasped tightly around her thighs. Her eyes snapped down to his when he wobbled for a second time. Despite having frozen at the impending doom with gravity, she could tell by the shock in his eyes that it was too late to do anything besides cast a wandless cushioning charm as he tipped backwards.

His free arm shot up and pulled her flush against him as they fell. Hermione squeezed her eyes closed until the jostle of impact shot through her system, much lessened by her hasty charmwork. She remained frozen, taking stock of herself to make sure she wasn’t hurt.

Her eyes snapped open at the feel of warm breath against her sternum, and peeked down to find wide, frozen eyes peeking up at her from between the valley of her breasts where his face had become nestled. She sat up rapidly and dazedly pulled the container to rest against her abdomen. His cheeks were pink as they stared at one another, and she couldn’t help find it cute. In hindsight, she could see that she’d done it to him when she’d tried to gain the high ground by essentially climbing him.

“I-I-Hermione—” Her face flamed as he stammered.

She’d never seen him so flustered, so she did the only thing she could. She thrust the tartelette container at him as a peace offering.

“It’s my fault—”

“No, I should have put you down.”

She looked down at them and realized she was still straddling his waist. With a yelp, she flung herself to the side, landing just next to him as he’d yet to let go of her hips.

Her face burned hotter and she wanted to look away, but she knew she wasn’t a feather and also hadn’t cast a featherweight charm on herself. “Are you all right? I didn’t hurt you with the landing, did I?”

The pink faded from his face as a grin stretched across his mouth. “Of course not. Your cushioning charm absorbed the damage. Besides, it’s not like your small self is going to do anything. Potter tackling me in training packed more of a punch.” He snatched the container while she was distracted, shifting to his side and pushing himself up onto one elbow.

“Why was Harry tackling you in training?” Her eyes narrowed as her lips pursed.

“Hand-to-hand combat. Apparently it’s a new part of the training portion. Criminals have learned that Aurors rely too much on their wands, so doing any sort of physical attack in close quarters puts them at the advantage.” He broke one of the treats in half and shoved it into his mouth, his lips quirking.

She scowled as she realized they were right back where they started, except this time he’d tucked her against his side as he ate his way through the rest of the treats in a sloth-like manner. Hermione could be patient, however, and her lips curled evilly when he realized that he’d run out of tartelettes. 

His eyes cut over to her as she quickly shoved up onto her knees and planted one hand behind him, caging him in as if he couldn’t magically or physically remove her with little effort.

“So, Draco, why were you not allowed lunch yesterday?”

He rolled his eyes and flopped the short distance onto his back. “If I tell you, you have to give me your word as a witch that you won’t do anything.”

She pursed her lips and thought about her options. Either he could tell her, or she could drag it out of Harry. On the one hand, dragging it out of Harry had its own sets of pros and cons but would ultimately be easier. On the other hand, she wanted to hear what was going on directly from him. She thought back to their conversation on his choice about whether to cover his Dark Mark or not, and her mind was made up.

“I promise that I won’t do anything. I won’t intervene at all.” She held up her left hand as she spoke.

Draco studied her, looking back and forth between her eyes for a moment before sighing in a very put-upon manner. “Remember you said that. I was out on a call yesterday morning with Finch-Fletchley. We were there most of the morning thanks to his incompetence and when we got back, there was utter pandemonium over something I can’t discuss. Robards grabbed me, dragged me into a meeting, and we were there until about ten last night. Nobody left the room, nobody entered the room until we finished.”

The one thing she hadn’t promised was not to get angry.

“What the fuck?” 

Draco’s eyes shot wide at her rare use of foul language. 

“That is such bullshit. I know there are protocols and all sorts of other things in place for crisis situations so that you will be taken care of during extenuating circumstances. There’s absolutely no excuse for that to have happened.”

“Granger—”

“None!”

He opened his mouth to say something else, but the force of her stern stare convinced him to shut it back and hold up his hands in surrender. “Don’t be angry.”

Her nostrils flared, and she had to do a mental exercise to calm down before magic burst from her as if she was a child again. “It’s abuse of Ministry employees and against at least ten different rules!”

He snatched her hands and held them just above his abdomen, forcing her to lean over on him. He dragged his thumbs slowly, rhythmically, back and forth against her fingers. Against her will, she relaxed but was still able to hold on to her anger, the same as before.

“It happens sometimes. Rarely, but still. It’s no different than if I was stuck out in the field for hours on end.”

She looked away from him and clenched her jaw. She didn’t like the thought of that either. Maybe she should pack him and Harry an emergency kit they could shrink and put in their interior pockets.

His fingers squeezing hers steadily brought her attention back to him. “I’m fine, I promise. It was just one day. Robards gave me an extra hour today to make up for it.”

“That doesn’t mean I have to like it.”

“I’m not saying you do.”

She huffed and looked down at their joined hands, momentarily enamored at how small hers looked in his much larger ones. He’d always been so gentle with her, she realized. Even when he’d pulled her off her feet, he’d been careful with her.

When she forgave him, she knew she hadn’t fully forgiven him. When she said she had, what she’d really meant was she was starting to get there. Over the past few months, he’d shown his sincerity in his apologies and had demonstrated he’d actually changed. Over that time, they’d built a lovely friendship.

There’d been many days where she’d daydreamed about what it might’ve been like if they’d been able to be friends while at Hogwarts. Days spent at the same table instead of separate corners of the library. Weekends of group trips to Hogsmeade. Serious study partners for exams. It would’ve meant that she’d have had to cheer for two Quidditch teams instead of one, but if that was the cost of congeniality then she’d have attended hundreds of matches.

“Want to take a walk before I have to go back?”

His voice snapped her out of her reverie, and she looked down at him, realizing she’d pulled her lip between her teeth at some point.

“Sure. Let me just pack everything away.” She retrieved something from the hamper and set it out of his view before waving her wand and watching everything pack itself back into their containers and then coalesce into the hamper. They both got to their feet with Hermione holding her bounty behind her back as Draco released the charms on the handkerchief. 

Instead of tucking it back in his pocket after spelling it clean, he tucked it into the hamper with everything else, then stole the entire thing from her fingers. Before they could set off anywhere, she pulled out a cream bakery box wrapped in dark green ribbons from behind her back and held it out for him.

“What’s this?”

“Something for you to open later when you get back to your desk.” She winked at him. 

He smirked and shrank the package, stashing it in his inner jacket pocket for safekeeping.

He offered her his arm and when she accepted, he took them back to the pathway and led her down to the Serpentine Waterfall. They stood on the bridge and watched the swans and the ducks play in the water, eating the feed that visitors would toss to them.

“I got chased by a swan once when I was a child,” she said, her fingers gently gripping his bare forearm at the memory. 

“What did you do to deserve that?”

She shrugged. “Not sure. Mum and Dad always speculated that I’d gotten too close to a nest.”

“Swans are almost as mean as peacocks.”

“Almost?”

“We’ve had both at the Manor for as long as I can remember. I’ve been both a terror to and terrorized by the beasts. All I know is that I’m grateful for brooms.” His nose wrinkled.

After a few more moments he led them back towards the Rose Garden. He turned them down a pathway and into a vine-covered metal pergola, making a once public stroll quite intimate. They were alone; even the sparse groups of people walking the other pathways had fallen away to dead silence.

He pulled them to a stop halfway down and turned to face her, stepping close. He dropped his arm but caught her hand and pulled her to stand inches from him. She tipped her head back to look up at him. His scent filled her nostrils: sunshine, fresh laundry, and citrus. Clean and pure were the words that immediately came to mind when he was close. It reminded her of home.

He was studying her with an intensity she was unused to. The hamper must have floated to the ground because she didn’t hear the thud of it impacting the concrete. The hand that had been carrying it raised to cup her face, his thumb stroking along her jawline. She barely caught the pink of his tongue as he wet his lips, but she was then distracted by his darkened eyes as they darted between her eyes and her lips. She had to force herself to hold still; something in the back of her mind told her to be patient.

His thumb grazed along her bottom lip. “May I kiss you?” His voice was reverent as he watched her.

“Yes.” 

It was barely more than a breath, and the words had just ghosted from her lips when he tilted her head back. Gray eyes held hers as he leant down to brush their noses together for an instant before pressing his warm, soft mouth to hers. Her soul sang as she leaned against him and he dropped her hand to snake his arm around her waist, tenderly holding her to him.

As far as she was concerned, there was nothing left in this world beyond the two of them and the points where their bodies connected. Her hands fisted in his shirt, his arm pressing against her back as he held her close, and the only things holding her to the Earth at that point were that and his mouth that she could already tell would be an addiction. 

It felt like an eternity and an instant at the same time when he finally pulled back an inch to study her. He then dipped his head once, twice, and a third time for tiny kisses, each setting off a cacophony of fireworks sparking along the entirety of her system from her fingertips to the roots of her hair to the soles of her feet.

“Thank you,” he whispered against her lips before pressing one last kiss to her mouth. 

He straightened and dragged the tip of his thumb along the edge of her bottom lip.

“I’ll owl you.” His voice was low, coarse, and it sent a shiver straight down her spine.

He placed the handle of the hamper back in her hand before turning, taking two steps and Disapparating on the spot.

She’d just kissed Draco Malfoy.

Her hand came up to brush her mouth, suddenly wondering if the moment were real at all and if so, what did it mean? Surely they couldn’t just kiss out of nowhere and then not discuss it, right? The look on his face, in his eyes, the intensity that held her rooted in place was something that she’d never forget.

Sound filtered back in, and she realized he’d put up warding and silencing charms to afford them total privacy.

She’d just kissed Draco Malfoy. 

She turned and made her way to the closest Apparition point, forcing herself to clear her mind and envision her house before turning into the void. She arrived home, whole and unsplinched somehow, letting herself in and making to put away the remnants of lunch that would become dinner later when she found a large envelope lying atop everything.

It was the usual brown the Ministry was known for using with the wax-stamped seal holding the flap closed. She absently set the food to putting itself away and the dishes to washing as she carried the parcel to her desk. With a thin knife, she neatly cut the paper at the top and slid the contents onto her desktop. Before discarding the envelope, a picture fell out. She picked it up and first saw pointy black boots crossed at the ankles on the corner of a desk, one toe bouncing steadily along as if the wearer was listening to the wireless. Beyond the hallway was an obviously empty office with the nameplate missing next to the door. An oblivious looking Harry walked past with documents shoved nearly up to his nose.

What the hell?

Then she discarded the photograph and picked up the cover letter. She read it once, twice, and then a third time. She then sifted through the rest of the pile. A job description, expectations, benefits, and the list went on. Eventually, she ran out of papers to pour over in her stupor and so piled everything neatly on her desk, then went to lie on the couch.

It was a job offer from the Department of Magical Law Enforcement for the position of Investigator. It was perfect for her while still keeping her out of the way of chasing darkness. But who was responsible for her being offered this job? Was it Draco? Harry? Some of the other Order members who still maintained jobs within the Ministry? Did anything about  _ her _ prompt them to send this to her?

A memory wriggled to life, and she faintly remembered a pile of job offers from the Ministry directly after sitting her NEWTs. It was a hazy time, when she was still learning to navigate the waters of post-war life and all it entailed. She did remember regretfully declining, stating that perhaps in future she may apply should an opening become available.

It’d be foolish not to take it. She was qualified in both her experience with helping Harry through the years and with her NEWT scores. She wrestled with all the reasons why she’d been sent a job offer rather than having to apply for it herself. She thought back to the picture. Draco must’ve taken it to dangle in front of her, perhaps to show her she’d be close to both him and Harry if she accepted.

That in itself was tempting, to be close to friends than surrounded by a bunch of strangers. She knew her boundaries would take that better at this point in her life. Once there, if she didn’t like the job, she could always put in for another position that came open or keep an eye on the jobs boards.

Hauling herself back from the couch, she returned to the desk, mind made up. She filled out all the forms and noted the time and office she needed to show up at should she accept. At least she had a few days left until her hire date.

Instead of going to Diagon for an owl, however, she merely stuck a note to the front of the packet and sent it through the Floo to Harry’s so he could take it in the next day. 

Then she went to her desk and sat, making a list of all the things she needed to accomplish before Monday rolled around. At the top of that list was to ask Draco how he’d snuck her that packet right under her nose.

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> See you all next Saturday! <3


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope everyone is staying safe and staying away from people. Wash your hands, hunker down, look after each other, stay home unless you absolutely have to leave and we'll get through this!
> 
> Huge thanks to my Alpha/Betas NuclearNik and Monica03, without them I would be a mess and this story would be a disaster. Also a huge thanks to my Omegas (pre-reader) MarshmallowMcGonagall and QuinTalon!
> 
> To everyone who reads, subscribes, bookmarks, comments/reviews, follows, reblogs, likes, etc: I appreciate you all SO VERY MUCH. With the length of my chapters and the editing process, it leaves little time to come back and interact (I'll still try, however!). I promise though, all of it makes me go starry eyed and flail about every single time.
> 
> Disclaimer: I own nothing.

It’d been a month since she’d started at the Ministry, but it felt like she’d been there for ages already. Hermione had been able to expedite her training by testing out of most of it. It’d taken mere days to master the list of charms and spells. The faux scenarios they set up for her to solve were cake in comparison to things she’d done before. It was all logical, a construction of order of operations, a web in her mind of what to do next based on the outcome of the prior decision. 

Her office, as indicated in Draco’s photo, was indeed across the hall from his own and down a few doors from Harry’s. She couldn’t figure out why one of the other investigators in the department kept shooting her dirty looks when he thought she wasn’t looking. He was pleasant enough when he was training her and during their interactions, but for the life of her she couldn’t figure out what his problem was.

No matter, she had a bigger problem than Jameson on her hands now. She straightened her desk for the weekend, pulled her bag out of the bottom drawer and stood, eyeing the two men waiting in the chairs across from her desk.

“Do I have to go?”

“Yes,” they both intoned for what was likely the hundredth time. 

She let out a long sigh and gathered the rest of her things, shoving it all in her new bag. Instead of showing up to her new job and flaunting the bag many of the Order members, and thus Ministry members, knew to have an illegal charm on it, she simply cast the charm on a new bag. This one was a large, leather messenger bag, big enough for easily storing most of the things she toted around with her, such as a light cloak and a compact umbrella. She’d even altered the interior with an extra zipper to access the extra space, so if someone searched her, it would look like a normal bag.

They had moved to the hall to wait, so when she shut her door and cast the locking charms, they were right there to escort her to their destination.

Draco’s hand had moved to her waist, but hesitated and instead snagged her hand. She’d only had to shoot him one look when he’d done it the first time to let him know that was a bit too intimate for a work environment. Usually any sort of contact was, in her opinion, but it was the end of the day despite it being only one o’clock and also the end of the week. She could cut a sliver of slack now and again.

It was like they were her guards, leading her to the gallows as they emerged from the bowels of the Ministry and headed towards the Floos. Draco pulled her into one with him and threw down Floo Powder, calling out their destination.

Upon arrival, she used her wand to remove the soot from the both of them, and then Harry when he stepped out next. Hermione looked around Britain’s Quidditch stadium. She’d been here only a couple of times to watch Ginny practice, but then the place was empty. Now it was teeming with people who were there for the Inter-Departmental Charity Quidditch event. The Aurors were playing against the Unspeakables in the final game.

There had been seven different teams facing off against one another for the last two months every Friday night at the stadium to build hype for donors and ticket sales to see the final match. There wasn’t one particular charity they were playing for this year, but a short list that the final total would be split amongst. The War Orphan Fund and The Fearless Campaign were the top two on the list.

Hermione was an ardent supporter of The Fearless Campaign and while she hadn’t been able to go to fundraisers or events, she’d privately met up with the core group to help them plan their legislative proposals and examine their overall plans for cohesion. She’d also been there for a couple of the leaders when things had been at their lowest for late nights of tea or wine and venting.

Werewolves had bitten or scratched so many people during the war that dozens upon dozens of people were afflicted and now trying to live with the aftermath on top of the rest of the trauma the war wrought. The Fearless Campaign had been designed to bring people and the victims together to show that they were the same people as before they’d been afflicted and needn’t be feared and uselessly cast from society. Not all werewolves were like Greyback.

The group also helped to fund group homes for people whose families had kicked them out and also to assist in the purchase of Wolfsbane Potion every month. It was a huge initiative, but also a costly one. They’d just begun to make headway on getting subsidies from the Ministry to assist in the effort while they waited for legislation to make its way through the system.

She’d often wondered what it would’ve been like for Remus had this group been around after the First Wizarding War and had thought of him often today as the final match loomed large.

Harry said earlier that Andromeda might be there with Teddy, and perhaps even Narcissa since Draco was playing, but nothing was certain.

She walked the two to their locker room, providing each with a kiss to the cheek. “Good luck and don’t do anything too dangerous!” She narrowed her eyes at each in turn. 

“Don’t fret, Granger. Potter and I will behave. We already had to sign a form stating we wouldn’t do anything that would cost us time off work. Ministry can’t afford to have so many employees out over Quidditch injuries.”

“Yeah, Hermione, plus if that happens, we won’t be able to do this as a fundraiser again. Not sure about anyone else, but I much prefer this over those stuffy affairs we’ve been stuck with until this idea,” Harry said as he scuffed the bottom of his boot heel against the floor.

Draco shrugged. He was used to attending balls, galas, and grand affairs since he was small, so it made little difference to him.

“Not the biggest Quidditch fan, but I’ll take this over the other, any day of the week.” She shucked her blazer and draped it across her bag. “You two had best get going so you can do whatever it is men do in Quidditch locker rooms before the game.”

A feral grin unfurled across Draco’s mouth before he cast an amused glance at her and strode inside. She looked at Harry who’d gone pink in the cheeks.

“Depends on the team, Hermione. Some do different things for good luck, such as taking a shot of firewhisky or the like.”

“And others?”

“I’ll tell you later.”

She narrowed her eyes at him, pinning him in place before he pulled her in to whisper in her ear. 

Her cheeks flamed at what Harry whispered to her, and she stared at the door where Draco disappeared through. Did they really do such things?

“I’ll leave you to it then. See you after the match. Good luck!” She took one quick look at Harry to see him chuckling at her despite his own pinked cheeks and obvious discomfort before speeding away.

She needed a butterbeer and a snack. She’d skipped lunch in order to buy concessions since those profits also went towards the final donation sum.

The stands were busy, but plentiful enough that the lines weren’t outrageous. She invested in a floating tray and purchased a variety of snacks, knowing they’d get eaten either by her, Ginny, or Ron. She snagged a couple of pins as souvenirs as well as a program before heading to the section Ginny had informed her they’d be saving her a seat in. When she emerged into the seating section, it was hard to miss the raucous group of Weasleys, but the addition of Andromeda, Teddy, and Narcissa in the uppermost seats of the group pleasantly surprised her. Ginny was also up there with them, entertaining Teddy while the two sisters talked. 

She climbed the steep stairs, thankful there was only one treacherous flight to contend with, and made her way along the aisle to the empty seat next to Ginny. She sat and directed her tray to hover over the empty seat next to her, well out of reach of the tot Ginny was entertaining with charmed, color-changing butterflies.

He twisted around on Ginny’s lap when Hermione took her seat, his hair Weasley red and eyes a matching cornflower blue.

His eyes lit up at the sight of her. “Wotcher!” Harry had obviously been teaching him things again. She was sure he’d teach him how to properly be a child of a Marauder when he got older.

“Hello, Teddy! Are you excited for the match?”

He nodded, vigorously. “Quidditch!” He squirmed on Ginny’s lap, reaching for Hermione until she took him.

It was only seconds after he’d settled in that his hair had morphed to brown curls and his eyes shifted to a shade of bourbon to match her own. He looked up at her with a grin, which she returned. He then peeked over at the tray with all the stealth of a toddler.

“Teddy, would you like to share a pretzel?”

He eagerly nodded. “Please.”

She broke it into a few smaller pieces and handed him a couple. That should keep his hands busy for a minute, at least.

She glanced over to Ginny, who was watching her interact with Teddy in a far too scheming manner than could ever be healthy for anyone.

“You’re quite the natural, Hermione.”

“So?”

“So when are you actually going to start dating? You’re clearly better than before.”

The thought of dating anyone made her stomach clench uncomfortably. Ever since Draco had kissed her a month ago, he’d yet to do it again, despite the numerous lunch dates, going to the symphony, a wizarding play, and another opera together. He still guided her by the waist or the small of her back and still caught her hand in his. But he’d given no indication he wanted to kiss her again or do anything more than what they currently were, and it was haunting her. She often found herself looking at his mouth in stolen moments, hoping he’d ask her again.

Should she initiate? Leave it? Ask him about it? Would that make her seem clingy?

A hand passed in front of her face, breaking her out of her thoughts.

“I’m fine with doing what I currently am, Ginny. Besides, I just started a new job.”

“Yeah, a job where you’re right across the hall from the person you go to lunch with at least twice a week. Not to mention—”

Hermione glared at the witch, cutting her off before flicking her eyes towards Narcissa and back.

Ginny just snickered and sat back in her seat after making her point.

It wasn’t too much longer before Lee Jordan from Magical Games and Sports was announcing the player lineup led by Cormac McLaggin as the team of Unspeakables crested the far side of the stadium, circling for a lap to cheers and applause. They landed on their half of the field with Madam Hooch waiting on them at its center. Harry said she’d volunteered to referee the matches due to the nature of the games. 

Then Lee was announcing the Auror squad, and Hermione leaned forward a smidge in anticipation. Zabini led them out of the opening at the bottom of the stadium, followed by Draco, Seamus Finnegan, three other Aurors she barely knew, and Harry bringing up the rear.

They took the same circuitous route the other players had before landing in their designated spot.

Blaise and Cormac shook hands and stepped back. Madam Hooch blew her whistle as she threw the Quaffle into the air. Hermione caught a glint of the Snitch as it flew out of the woman’s coat and zipped away.

She glanced down to see Teddy polishing off his last pretzel stick. “Another?”

When he shook his head, she cleaned his greasy hands and leaned back in her seat, Teddy cuddling into her as he watched the players zoom about.

She thought he’d be watching Harry circling overhead, but his eyes were diligently following another player.

She looked over at Ginny, who was watching the game closely.

“Gin, doesn’t he usually keep up with Harry?”

Ginny didn’t even pull her eyes from the Quaffle. “Nah. Harry’s old news, sees him all the time. Rarely sees Draco though.” 

A flash of color caught her eye, and she looked down to find a boy with platinum blond hair and gray eyes grinning up at her. Teddy had enough of the prominent Black genes in him to make him resemble Draco when he was a boy.

She felt a gaze burning into her and looked to the end of the row where Narcissa was staring at them with wide eyes, and Hermione instantly knew what the woman had to be thinking. Hermione tore her gaze away and glued them resolutely back on the match. The visage of Draco in miniature had planted itself in her mind and wedged so tightly in her thoughts that there was no uprooting for the time being.

Of course, in order for him to get a clone of himself, he would need a wife. The abstract thought of a woman at his side, holding a blond-haired, gray-eyed toddler made her eyebrows contract together, and her jaw clenched almost painfully. After a moment, she forced herself to relax. She was being ridiculous. She had no claim over Draco Malfoy and had no right to the raging jealousy that was pounding through her veins. Still, after the past few weeks that didn’t keep her from yearning for it during private moments. 

She felt Teddy cuddle back into her again, and she wrapped her arms around him. Andromeda doted on him, but Ginny often mothered him when she could and the boy ate up every ounce of affection. It was the same whenever he was around Hermione. 

It was at that time Draco happened to look over, looked back where he was flying, then snapped his head back quickly enough to cause whiplash. His mouth had fallen open for the briefest of moments before a yell caught his attention, and he turned back just in time to swerve out of the way of not one, but two Bludgers. One of which had come close enough to ruffle his hair even after he’d ducked.

Her heart thundered at the close call, her irrational feelings melting away at the cold wave of fear that had crashed over her. If he’d been hit by one Bludger, he’d certainly gotten a second dose right after. Gods, she hated this game, especially when it involved her friends.

“They’re more vicious than normal,” Ginny muttered.

“What’s that?”

“Oh, um, usually the teams don’t quite play this brutally.” Ginny grimaced as two of the Chasers went after Seamus, circling around him before he shot upwards, breaking them apart and darting in to score another goal. Hermione looked at the score and realized that it would take catching the Snitch to win the match. Both teams were nearly neck and neck in points.

Her eyes drifted back to find Draco and Cormac flying side by side, snarling at each other as they sped around the field. She saw Draco’s broom jerk and nearly veer off course. She’d seen that enough before to know that McLaggen had kicked at him, and she saw red. How dare that wanker? That was playing dirty and in a charity match, there was no reason for it.

“I’d be willing to bet Cormac and probably some of the other Unspeakables have a vendetta or a grudge against Draco.”

“Why do you say that?” Ginny looked over at her before focusing on the blond.

“Because McLaggen openly kicked him a minute ago. If Draco wasn’t such a good flyer, he’d have been sent straight into the wall.” Hermione clenched her jaw again and zeroed back in on Draco. When the match was over, she and Cormac were going to have words.

The match continued on with many more close calls. If not for Draco’s skill on a broom, he’d have been taken out several times over by this point. He’d been rammed, kicked, dived at, and had navigated many other physical altercations. The only person who hadn’t gone after him was the Unspeakables’ Seeker, and that was because the man was so busy tailing Harry. She had to keep her arms occupied with cuddling Teddy to prevent herself from drawing her wand. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d been so angry.

“Hermione, you’re going to break teeth if you don’t relax a smidge.” Ginny’s eyes were wide.

Hermione took a deep breath in her nose, held it to five, and let it out slowly through her mouth, ruffling Teddy’s still platinum hair. He merely squirmed and when she glanced down, she’d discovered he’d fallen asleep with his head on her chest. The sight was enough to make the fury occupying her muscles drain away. She lifted a hand to rub gently across his back, relieved when he settled back down into slumber.

She finished the second butterbeer that Ginny had gotten her when she returned to the concession stands, as well as her meat pie.

The longer the game went, the dirtier it got. As the rest of the Auror squad caught on to the animosity being thrown towards their teammate, they began to return the favor. As a preventative measure, they often paired up together to fly in formation when someone had the Quaffle.

There was a collective gasp from the crowd, and she looked up in time to see Harry flat on his broom, diving towards the pitch. Her eyes darted down and she could see a golden sparkle against the green. She held her breath as Harry grasped the Snitch a breath before the other man could claim it. He pulled up just in time to avoid collision with the ground, which couldn’t be said for his rival who bounced across the grass thanks to strong cushioning charms put in place before the match.

The entire stadium erupted in screaming cheers as Cormac turned a violent shade of violet and wildly gestured his team back towards the locker rooms. They all looked vaguely wary as they trudged along after their leader. She hoped they’d all take turns hexing him in the showers.

The excited clapping from her lap alerted her Teddy had woke up, likely in the last fifteen minutes.

“Down, please.” He looked up to her with big, gray eyes and she gently set him back to his feet, watching as he carefully made his way back to his Nana. 

Harry pulled to a stop right in front of them and extended a hand to Ginny, who shot a grin at Hermione before using the seats in front of them as a step. She climbed on his broom in front of him and wiggled her fingers at Hermione before they took off.

Hermione had just vanished her trash and packed away the hovering tray when Draco pulled to a stop in front of her, exactly where Harry had been moments before. His cheeks here pink and his eyes were silvery in bright excitement. 

He extended a hand to her. “Take a victory lap with me?”

“On a  _ broom _ ?”

“Unfortunately, the Ministry still has a ban on flying carpets, darling.”

He’d never called her that before, and her heart pounded as it rolled from his lips. She bit her bottom lip as she stared at the broomstick.

“Um…” 

His hand dropped. “Don’t you trust me?” His eyebrows pulled together as the excited tilt to his mouth melted away.

Her heart clenched. Of course she trusted him, she just didn’t trust that broom. “Yes, I trust you.”

“One lap? I won’t even go fast, I promise.”

She sighed. Oh, what the hell. He deserved it after all of that bullshite he’d endured. She stood, and the boyish grin he’d been wearing before reappeared. She grasped his hand and ever so carefully repeated what Ginny had done, using the seat in front of her as a step and allowed him to pull her on his broom to sit sidesaddle.

She heard some cheering but paid it no mind; it could have been over anything. Likely Ginny had laid one on Harry mid-loop or something. She’d once flipped upside down on her broom to kiss him during a game at the Burrow, so Hermione’d put nothing past the girl.

He gripped the broom with one hand and wrapped the other around her waist, caging her between his arms and thighs securely. She made to turn, but he let go of the broom and caught her chin. 

“Keep your eyes on me.”

When she continued to watch him, he reclaimed his grasp and leaned forward ever so slightly to get the broom back going. At a lack of anything else to grasp, her fingers closed around the arm that was holding the broom.

“Did you enjoy the match?” He kept his gaze over her shoulder, carefully watching where they were flying, lest she flip out on him.

“In some ways. Personally, I think they played too dirty and Hooch should have slapped them with far more penalties.”

The corner of his mouth twitched. “It’s Quidditch, Granger. It’s a rough game.”

“McLaggen’s lucky I didn’t hex his bollocks off when he kicked you the first time.” She cut her eyes from his face to his Adam’s apple, her mouth pressing into a thin line.

“Saw that, did you?”

“Of course I did.”

She snuck a glance and found his forehead crinkled in thought. His gaze shifted from their course to hers, and then back.

“I want you to promise me something.”

That didn’t sound good.

“What?”

“You won’t attack, threaten, or otherwise attempt to intimidate the Unspeakables team.”

Her eyes narrowed to slits. “I won’t tolerate their behavior towards you.”

His eyes darted back to hers, holding her gaze. “Do you want things to get worse? You can’t always be there to shield me. I’m a big boy, Hermione. I’ll take care of it in my own way.”

She crossed her arms under her breasts and glared down at her lap. So she was supposed to sit there silently and seethe? Did he know her at all? She’d always looked after her friends.

He sighed and tightened the arm around her waist, sliding her further up his thighs and practically into his lap. Draco straightened, letting go of the broom to catch her chin again and tilt her head to where she was looking at him again, albeit begrudgingly.

“It’s not that I don’t appreciate having your fierce loyalty, but I want you to imagine how much more they’ll do if it seems like I can’t handle myself. Like I need to hide behind your skirts every time someone decides to be a knob.”

“He physically assaulted you! Watch where we’re going!” Her voice had crept into shrill territory as it connected in her brain that he was still staring at her, and thus wasn’t focusing where he should be.

“I’ll handle it, little lioness. Now, promise me.” His eyebrows rose in expectation.

“Draco! Eyes on the path!” Her fingers found purchase in the front of his uniform instead, clenching the material tightly in her trembling fingers, having let go of his arm when he’d reached for her chin.

“I will once I have your word.”

“Fine! I promise,” she ground out between clenched teeth and trembling lips. 

“Thank you.” His eyes returned to where they belonged, the lines smoothing out now that he was satisfied. His fingers released her chin and joined his other hand at her hip. 

She didn’t reply. He had a point though; it was a battle he had to fight himself, no matter how much she hated it. She would just have to do something to take out her anger in secret, where nobody but her would ever truly know. He would be suspicious of course, but McLaggen had made legions of enemies over the years. There would be no proof that it was her, of that she was certain, so there would be no way to pin it on her; if she even became a suspect to begin with. Besides, Draco was going to have to realize not everything was about him. This was also about her and her anger at the git.

Resolution decided upon, she relaxed and leaned into him. She could concede that this was nice, as long as she didn’t look up, down, side to side, or anywhere else except for him.

She snuck another glance at him when his hands tightened on her. His chest expanded under her grip and the following exhaled breath ruffled her hair. He looked down at her unexpectedly and her cheeks pinked over being caught, but he simply studied her. His tongue darted out to swipe across his bottom lip, and her eyes zeroed in on it.

“Hermione, may I—” Her heart sped up, hoping for the question she’d been obsessing over for the last few weeks.

The flutter of black and red robes—far too close for comfort—brushed against their hair and Hermione yelped, squashing herself against his chest. Draco released her and grabbed ahold of the handle again with a curse, dipping them down and out of the way. Harry and Ginny came into sight as they leveled out beside them. Ginny gave Harry one last dirty look before grinning over at Hermione and shooting her a wink. It was all she could do not to groan.

“Malfoy. Hermione,” Harry said. He seemed satisfied.

“Potter,” Draco said through clenched teeth.

Hermione merely shot Harry a dirty look as she tried to calm her racing heart. He knew she was afraid of flying, and now that she was finally having a moderately good experience with it, he had to go and try to ruin it. Couple that with the fact she was sure Draco had been about to kiss her again, and her anger shifted to fury. Hermione added his name to the list of people to exact vengeance on in the near future, her eyes narrowing to slits at him.

“Welp, time to head to the after-party! See you there!” Harry and Ginny ducked out of sight.

“Wanker,” Draco muttered as he glared after them. His gaze softened and drifted down to her. “Guess we best go to this blasted after thing. Else I’m sure Potter will come right back.”

“If we must. I’d prefer if we could just skive off and go make dinner.”

“You want to make dinner together?” His eyebrows raised infinitesimally.

“I was more thinking I would cook for you, but I’m open to that idea too.” She tingled at the thought of moving around the kitchen, of working in tandem with him, of feeding him bites from a wooden spoon.

Ever since she’d started at the Ministry, they’d done more of a mix between staying in at hers or going out to dinner. They always went out for dinner if they went to an event. The play they’d attended had been in Naples; they had dinner under the stars afterwards in Pompei at one of Draco’s favorite restaurants with a direct view of Mount Vesuvius. He’d told her a story about a local wizard who’d been mucking around with a ritual and had chucked in a magical goat as an offering. Apparently it had caused the eruption that had destroyed Pompeii in 79 AD. After that, the Italian Ministry had forbidden wizards from sacrificing anything directly into the volcano and had put up repelling charms around the rim.

When they ate at her place, he almost always provided dinner, saying that they both had a long day at work and surely to Merlin, she’d rather not cook. She wasn’t about to put up an argument, but there were times she’d secretly wanted to cook for him. Not only to try to balance things out in the tiniest ways but also because she’d come a long way in the kitchen and the idea of providing a home-cooked meal for him was exceedingly appealing.

“Let’s make dinner together tomorrow night then. Mother’s supposed to come back from Italy sometime after lunch. I can owl her in time for her to bring us some fresh pasta from the market. If you still want to cook, I’ll pop home and get a couple bottles of wine from one of the vineyards.”

Dinner together, two nights in a row. “I think that would be lovely. I can pop round to the market in the morning for some fresh ingredients I’m not currently growing.” She tried to temper the excited smile that curled at her mouth. 

“Perfect, now we just have to endure about half an hour or so and then we can skip out while Potter’s attention is occupied by admirers.”

“Won’t be too hard. He’ll be mobbed after that catch.”

“Indeed. We’ll take a spin around the dance floor, exit the opposite side, and then take our leave.”

The feel of grass suddenly tapping the undersides of her shoes caused her head to whip around. They were flying just above the ground, following along the side of the stadium about ten feet away from the wall. Even if she fell from here, she would merely bounce off the cushioning charms as if she were falling onto a bed. Her eyes met his again.

“That wasn’t so bad, now was it?” He tilted his head.

She smiled. “It really wasn’t.” He’d kept her distracted the entire time. If he’d kissed her, she probably wouldn’t have even noticed if they’d crashed.

“We’ll have to go again sometime.” 

He brought the broom to a slow stop, and she hopped off, not realizing she’d practically been in his lap until she stood. Her face flushed as she peeked back at him to find him smirking as if he knew what she was thinking. He probably did. 

“I’ll be out shortly. If you want to sit in the stadium, I’ll collect you once I’m out.”

“Okay.” She shot him a smile before heading back up into the stands, selecting the seats closest to where his set of locker rooms were located and plopping down in one. She patted her pocket to ensure her bag was still there after she’d shrunk it earlier and stuffed it away, lest Teddy get a little too interested in it.

When she looked back to the pitch, he was gone, and she took the time to marvel over how she hadn’t even thought to look away from him or panic. She’d never done that before, and she wondered if something had happened with their treatment in France that worked to suppress all sense of panic. That didn’t make sense though, seeing as she still freaked out if she didn’t have her bag or wand on her. The only explanation left was tied to Draco himself and the peace he imparted on her when they were together or touching.

It was an interesting thought, the idea that she’d be able to possibly enjoy broom rides the way the others did. Well, except Neville. Neville had never quite gotten the hang of brooms either and thus opted to stay on the ground alongside her. Maybe Adrian could distract him long enough to enjoy a broom ride for once.

The thought of her friend finally being happy with another made her warm. She’d finally cornered him about Adrian the Sunday prior when he’d come over to check on some of their smaller experiments. He’d admitted to it with a shy grin and much blushing, confiding in her that he was the happiest he’d been in a long time.

A pale hand extended itself in front of her, shaking her from her reverie. She took it and allowed him to pull her to her feet. His hair was perfect again, as was the rest of him in his usual suit, though the sleeves were rolled to just above his elbows, his tie was missing, and his jacket was slung over one shoulder.

“Shall we?”

“We shall.”

He laced their fingers and led her to the Floo, to the dreaded after-party where their plan went off without a hitch. Nobody was any the wiser when they slipped away for the night.

She’d cooked while he watched, and they both sipped the French wine he’d provided. At the end of the night, he’d kissed her fingers before leaving. She went to bed with her heart warm, excited for the next day and what it may bring.

That night she dreamed of her bare toes skimming along the water as she stared up into gentle gray eyes and warm hands holding her against him as they zipped along on a broomstick.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> See you all next Saturday!


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope everyone is staying safe and staying away from people. Wash your hands, hunker down, look after each other, stay home unless you absolutely have to leave and we'll get through this!
> 
> Huge thanks to my Alpha/Betas NuclearNik and Monica03, without them I would be a mess and this story would be a disaster. Also a huge thanks to my Omegas (pre-readers) MarshmallowMcGonagall and QuinTalon!
> 
> To everyone who reads, subscribes, bookmarks, comments/reviews, follows, reblogs, likes, etc: I appreciate you all SO VERY MUCH. With the length of my chapters and the editing process, it leaves little time to come back and interact (I'll still try, however!). I promise though, all of it makes me go starry eyed and flail about every single time. Especially over the last couple of weeks while struggling creatively.
> 
> Disclaimer: I own nothing.

Monday morning marked an odd day for Hermione; she’d stepped into pure chaos from the moment she’d stepped off the lift. Normally she got there before everyone else and watched as others trickled past her door, bleary-eyed and nursing cups of strong coffee on the way to their desks. She double-checked her watch to ensure that she wasn’t actually late and walking into work in the middle of the day instead.

She had been waylaid before she’d even turned down the hallway to her office.

“I hope you’re ready, ‘Mione. You’re in the field with me today.” Harry shoved his heavily smudged glasses up his nose.

“What in Morgana’s name is going on here? I’ve never seen such madness.” She brought down the wards on her door and went inside. She laid her work bag on the desk but didn’t bother to sit down.

“I’ll tell you when we get there. I’ve never seen anything like it, honestly.”

Unable to stand it any longer, she pulled her wand and spelled his glasses clean until they gleamed in the fluorescent overhead lights.

“Thanks, dove. Ready to go?”

She looked past him to Malfoy’s office when Harry started going over the parchment in his hands again. His door was open, the light was on, and she could see his uniform coat hanging on the hook behind his desk, but she didn’t see him anywhere.

“Sure. Anything special I need to bring?” She shucked her own coat and sent it floating to the hook, knowing it would only be a hindrance once they got there.

“Just you. Everything else is standard requirement.” As she sealed her office closed, Harry linked their arms, leading her to the interdepartmental Apparition point. “He’s already there by the way.”

“Who?” Her face flushed as she cut her eyes over to Harry.

“Malfoy, of course. Don’t play coy, Hermione. I saw you checking his office to see where he was earlier.” He cocked a brow at her, daring her to contradict him.

“We’re friends, Harry. I’m allowed to wonder where he is when the world seems to have flipped upside down and set everyone’s hair on fire.”

“Friends? Just friends?”

She’d yet to define anything with the man, even though he’d now taken to kissing her fingers before letting her go from his company or leaving her home. So until she had something concrete, denial it was.

“Yes, Harry.Just friends.”

“Not sure if you know this, ‘Mione, but people who are just friends don’t have multiple lunch and dinner dates throughout the week only to go on and have even more dates on the weekend. They also don’t skip the country to go see a play in Italy, nor do they—”

She came to a full stop, grabbed his arm, and yanked him around to face her.

“Harry James Potter, I don’t give a flying fig about what you quantify as to what most people do when you consider them to be dating. As far as I know, Malfoy and I are just friends who are getting to know each other and are immensely enjoying the process. If that changes, I’ll tell you, and I expect you to respect that decision.”

“So you’ve already decided then.”

She sighed and dropped her head back to stare at the ceiling for a moment before refocusing on the wizard in front of her. “It matters little what I decide when he hasn’t asked me or expressed any sort of interest, Harry!”

“For as smart as you are, you can be exceedingly oblivious. It’s like you’re Ron this time around. Ginny and I have talked about this multiple times over the last few months, and from what she describes, it’s almost exactly like pure-blood courtship.”

“Harry.”

“No, Hermione, listen to me. Does he or does he not provide you with meals fairly regularly? Has he or has he not interceded on your behalf over things that gain him nothing? Does he not check on you regularly? Does he not give you gifts? Kiss your fingers? Any of that sound familiar?”

There was nothing she could say to that. Draco had provided for her, gotten her care, interceded on the behalf of her well-being and looked after her; he’d given her small things like the Snitch and bottles of amazing wine, and he’d recently begun to kiss her fingers. She crossed her arms under her breasts as her cheeks flamed. She hated not knowing these things that were so obvious to people who’d grown up with them.

“I didn’t say any of that to humiliate you. I just don’t think you’re looking at the situation for what it is and I don’t want you to be unprepared should one day he pop up with an engagement contract with expectations for you to sign it. It’s all normal for pure-bloods and many half-bloods who grow up in openly magical families. With you being a talented, magical powerhouse who so seamlessly fit in as if you’d been practicing magic for the entirety of your life, I imagine he suspects that you’ve somehow learned all these things.”

She took a deep breath in and let it out slowly. Who was this, and where was her best friend? Had Ginny Polyjuiced him and incapacitated him for the day, then come to work in his stead?

“Harry, this is Draco Malfoy we’re talking about. I have severe doubts that his mother, for all that both of them have changed, would allow him to choose anything but a pure-blood bride to carry on their lineage. Their minds may have changed with the times, but that doesn’t mean they’ll be abandoning their traditions because of it. Within his social constructs, I don’t see a path forward even if I wanted to. So, again, Harry, unless he specifically asks me to date him, court him, whatever, I’m not going to dwell on it, and I’m asking you not to push it again.”

For all of the crush she’d developed on Malfoy, she’d had many sharp doses of reality over the past month. Especially in the form of the Greengrass sisters and many other pure-blood girls she remembered from Hogwarts who would visit him at his office from time to time, dressed as if they’d just stepped off the runway in Milan, the picture of perfection. She could easily hear them across the hall, inviting him to their family home or different events with them. It was never so stark a reminder as when she heard the giggles coming from across the hall or caught sight of them looking love-struck when they left his presence. She’d never felt so powerless, nor had she ever been filled with such a desire to smash her office to bits.

It was a stark reminder to her of her place in situations regarding Draco Malfoy. A friend and only that. She’d rationalized the kiss as him being curious, the gifts as being his way to show his friends affection, and their meal times as being their social time together. A darker possibility was that he was using her and her ignorance to practice for whichever girl he eventually chose. She had a hard time believing this, especially after he took her for the broom ride Friday in front of the whole stadium when he could have just flown solo like Seamus had. It was too much to think about and try to reconcile at this insane hour of the morning.

She looked back up to find Harry staring at her, brows drawn and mouth puckered like he was trying to decipher a complex rune pattern. Finally, he sighed.

“Alright, I’m sorry, I’ll leave it. Ginny and I were so sure though, and the last thing I want is for you to have some surprise pop up on you that you haven’t at least heard about.”

There was the Harry she knew. “I do appreciate the thought, Harry. Can we just please get on with our workday?” She sighed and wished she’d never gotten out of bed. Her weekend had been lovely, but this mess she could do without.

“Of course, dove. Come along.” He linked their arms again, and this time didn’t stop before reaching the central Apparition point. She held tight as he spun them into nothing and guided them into an easy landing at another location of pure insanity.

They had warded off the scene itself, but outside of that, there were Aurors, Unspeakables, and a couple of Ministry Curse-Breakers talking, circling the area, and attempting to follow magically lit footprint trails away from the scene. A flash caught her eye, and she looked up to note Colin Creevy, hovering on a broom, snapping photographs of the scene for her to analyze later.

It’d surprised her to be re-introduced to him. The last she heard, he and Dennis had rejoined the Muggle world after Colin had come so close to death at The Battle of Hogwarts. Perhaps it was just to soothe his father after he’d come within a hair’s breadth from losing both of his children. She wondered if Dennis stayed in the Muggle world, or if he’d finally went back to Hogwarts to finish his education.

Behind the silver line, it looked as if an explosion had happened. Trees were felled, scorch marks marred the grass, bits of colorful fabric were strewn around the area in shreds, and there in the center of the mess was a blackened stone altar spattered with what she could only imagine was blood.

Harry was standing stock-still at her side, watching as she processed the scene.

“Harry, what happened here?”

“Malfoy says it’s something to do with a dark ritual. Says that there was likely someone sacrificed.”

Human sacrifice.

She’d read about it, of course, but supposedly it hadn’t happened in well over a century. When performed, it wasn’t for anything trite. She could feel something was coming, and it made her antsy to be so in the dark on it.

Her eyes drifted across the field to find Draco watching her. He was still carrying on a conversation with Finch-Fletchley, but she was his focus. It confused her even more, and her brow furrowed. His eyes tightened in response to her. Most others would miss it, but she’d come a long way in reading him by now. He was concerned and any minute he would break away from Justin to come over, which was the exact opposite of what she currently needed.

She broke away from his gaze, a first for them. “Shall we go in?”

“We need to wait for Malfoy to debrief us for safety purposes. We will after that though.”

Hermione could feel the heat of his gaze boring into her as he crossed the field. She had to focus to not swing her eyes around to meet his again. It felt unnatural to not give in to the urge, but she was successful... until he trailed his fingers along the bare skin of her inner arm, and she snapped her head up to look at him.

The distress and conflict melted away and she could think again. Her shoulders came down from around her ears, and she unclenched her jaw and smoothed her expression. She’d been able to feel the tension in his touch even though it was feather-light, and she could see the tension in his shoulders. Great, she’d created a situation out of nothing when she’d previously resolved to stand back and see what happened despite her recent mental and emotional turmoil. Damn Harry. She made a mental note to intensify her revenge she was seeking for his little stunt Friday.

She would obsess over all the new information he’d dumped in her lap when she got back to her office. For now, she had a job to do, and she needed to at least try to put Draco at ease. He was already guaranteed to come check on her later, and she needed to be ready to play it off or something until she figured herself out. She was not going to ruin what they’d built between them by acting before she was sure and ready.

She covertly stroked the outside of his pinky finger with her own. While he didn’t relax to the extent she had, it improved the situation nonetheless.

“So, what are we looking at, Malfoy?”

Trust Harry to break the moment.

Draco straightened, clasping his hands together behind his back. “I suspect human sacrifice. The blood seems human, but we won’t be able to tell until Granger does her diagnostics on the scene. The only thing that’s been cast so far is a stasis charm and a warding line in order not to muddy the waters on additional magical presence and signature. A word of advice: with the situation at hand, I implore you to check to see if any objects radiate strong magical signature.”

A chill crept along her spine. “Why?”

“Because there’s not a body and I know what some factions do when they feel the need to cover their tracks.”

A memory came floating back to her that Harry had allowed her to view in a Pensieve before they left in Fourth Year—something he’d shared only with her.

_"Dumbledore told me to go and look for my father. I went back to my father's body. Watched the map. When everyone was gone, I Transfigured my father's body. He became a bone... I buried it while wearing the Invisibility Cloak, in the freshly dug earth in front of Hagrid's cabin."_

An agitated sigh rushed from Harry’s nose, and she knew he was reliving the memory.

“I’m so sick of this. I’m pushing for the Kiss when we find who did this.”

“Harry, the Dementors are gone, so I’m not sure how you’ll accomplish that.”

“Not quite,” Draco said.

“What do you mean, not quite?”

Surely the Ministry hadn’t....

“They’ve got one contained down in the Department of Mysteries. It’s secure as long as nobody meddles with the confines, if they can find it to begin with. Only one person really knows where it is, and that’s Thaddeus Oleander.”

They did.

She could only wonder what measures were in place should something happen to Thaddeus and someone eventually came across the Dementor. She tamped down on her curiosity as to how they were feeding it, likely a conduit of happiness somehow. Inquiries would be made later. The next to the last thing the Ministry needed was a potential surprise Dementor floating about the place, feasting on souls and decimating the sparser departments before anyone realized what was happening.

Neither man said anything, and her opinion on the matter was obvious on her face, which forced her to smooth her expression.

“I’ll be sure to do the detection spell first. Thank you, Malfoy. Proudfoot said that it was a rarely used method, and I’m not sure I would have thought of it after everything else I have to do.”

She was going to be here until dark. She swept the area, gauging where to begin; it was just massive. She could feel the weight of his stare again.

“Potter, shove off a second.”

What was he doing?

“Now’s not the time Malfoy—”

“It wasn’t a request.”

She looked at Harry and motioned with her head for him to go over to the barrier. She had to narrow her eyes to get him to comply and watched him stalk off with his lips pressed together. They were going to have to have a closed-door conversation soon. He started out fine when she and Draco started hanging out together, but she could tell he was going to become more of an arse if she didn’t intercede.

She barely noticed the wand movement at Malfoy’s side but knew he’d cast a Notice-Me-Not charm when he cupped her cheeks and brought her attention squarely back on him. Her body relaxed again.

He silently studied her from her chin to her forehead before settling back on her eyes. “What’s wrong?”

“Noth—”

“Don’t give me that, Granger. I can tell. Something’s been on your mind for a while now.”

How had he noticed?

The wind picked up and ruffled their hair, blowing strands of curls that had escaped her bun across her face. His fingers tenderly tucked them behind her ear.

Her mouth opened, closed, opened, and closed again.

“You can tell me anything,” he whispered.

“I know.” And she did. It made no sense, and she hated it. Especially with everything else going on.

“Then what’s wrong?”

“I’m confused.” That was an understatement.

“What about?”

She was silent again, but he was patient. She wanted to look at her shoes, or his, or literally anything else, but now that he was this close, she was unable to break the connection again.

“Several things. I can’t… I don’t…” She huffed in frustration. How did she even begin to tell him something without telling him too much?

His thumb stroked her cheek. “We’ll talk tomorrow at lunch. Dinner if things are still a bloody circus. Whatever it is, you’re overthinking it.”

How could he possibly know what had been on her mind? Even if he did, how did he excuse just sweeping her turmoil under the rug like her feelings were nothing? Her eyes narrowed.

“Fine. Tomorrow.” She pulled out of his grasp and stepped back out of his reach.

His hands hung in front of him for a split second before he dropped and shoved them in his pockets, his brow furrowed at her like she was a complex Arithmancy equation that had stumped him when he’d been so sure he knew the answer.

She turned and strode toward Harry before the temptation to smooth the space between his eyebrows became too great.

She sighed. What was wrong with her? If she were to be blunt and honest with herself, he’d become catnip, and now she was jealous as fuck when she’d finally acknowledged the truth of the matter. How was she supposed to tell him that and not sound like delusional cling wrap?

“Hermione.”

She froze and peeked over her shoulder at him.

His fingers clenched in his pocket. “Be careful.”

She gave a slow nod and finally met Harry over at the line. The Auror who cast the spell waved his wand over their hands, and a rune appeared. As soon as he gave the approval, they stepped over the line and a tingle of magic raced through them.

Time to focus. She drew her wand from the holster on her forearm and sank into the scene as she crooned the complex spell, waving her wand in sweeping swaths. Soon enough, a faint glow coated the area, brightening the closer it got to the altar. The brightest light, however, came from the crack between the top piece of the altar and the base. Something was in there. She felt someone else enter the area. The rune pulsated on her hand for a beat, and she looked up to see Colin, still on the broom, photographing everything thoroughly.

Harry was a solid presence beside her, a stone in a raging sea as everyone watched her work. She breathed deep three times and found her center, then made her way through the charms. The evidence glowed blue from the ground, and Harry cast markers to spring up next to them. Colin photographed it all and captured an overhead before Hermione was able to summon everything to their own evidence bags before sending them to the other side of the line where they packed themselves neatly in boxes that were vanished back to her sealed office.

The closer they got to the altar, the more the hair on the back of her neck stood up. She had to force herself to go up to it, examine the sticky mess coating the areas not covered by scorch marks, and siphon as much of it off into a jar as she could for testing later. The glow that had once covered the area in various levels of brightness had faded away with the continual removal of evidence.

Now that the blood had been removed, Hermione could see the runes engraved along the edges of the sides and top of the slab. It was just large enough for someone to lie on it on their back with their head hanging off one end and their legs dangling off the other at the knees, leaving their feet hanging dangling above the ground. Perfect for restraining someone and slitting their throat.

Her eyes unfocused, and she could almost envision two people holding a person down by their thighs and shoulders, their ankles and wrists magically affixed to the stone as someone pulled the victim’s head back by the hair and split the skin ear to ear.

She shook her head violently to dispel the grisly visage, causing her bun to tumble from its confines and spill down her back.

“Hermione?”

She approached the altar and took a deep, shuddering breath before removing the top slab with her wand, levitating to the far side of the barrier where it was carefully taken away. Draco was standing at the edge, his eyes on her, and she’d have given anything in that moment for a modicum of the calm he could give, but she couldn’t rely on that until she knew where she stood with him.

The altar began to pulsate with Dark Magic, sending waves of it out from itself. She whirled back and saw a perfect femur bone resting in a narrow trench. She had to get that bone, now. Before Harry could stop her, she darted forward, hearing her name shouted by two male voices—one exasperated and one terrified—as she honed in on her prize.

Her hand closed around it and she turned, made two steps in retreat, and then was flung through the air as the altar exploded into superfine dust, rocking the area and flinging people to the ground.

She didn’t remember the impact or sliding across the ground, the impact of the bushes as she flew into, then through them, nor the lacerations she incurred. The only thing she focused on was the bone in her grasp. The bone that was once a human being whose life had been stolen as a sacrifice in a Dark Ritual for something as plebeian as power.

There was very little that she remembered of what happened next, her ears ringing and her body numb from adrenaline, but she remembered handing the bone over to Harry. Harry, who understood and made sure it was taken care of. The last thing she remembered was a tall figure, dropping to his knees as he swung his head back and forth over her form, unsure where to start with her. Finally, his eyes zeroed in on her face and he cupped her cheeks just the same as he had previously. White blonde hair fluttered on the breeze over terrified gray eyes. Draco, her mind whispered in the haze. It was Draco.

She knew, intellectually, she had to have been badly hurt, but her mind shied from it. It shunned the knowledge as she focused on him, on the lips that moved but from which no sound came from. Before her vision faded to black, she could have sworn his eyes had turned pure silvery-white before warmth poured from his palms into her. Then she was gone to the darkness.

It felt like an eternity later when she came back to Earth again. Sound came back first, trickling in as footsteps pacing across wooden floors.

Five steps, a turn, and then five steps back. Rinse and repeat.

She was lying on a soft bed. Cool air flowed throughout the room. It felt familiar. Her eyelids felt like anvils when she tried to open them, and a groan slid from her mouth when she tried to force them open.

The pacing stopped, and the bed dipped near her under a heavy weight.

“Shhh, rest.” The soft hands were back on her cheeks, heating up to something that reminded her of the warmth from a fire in the grate on a cold day. Her mind rationalized that she was just cold and he was warm. She relaxed into his touch and fell back into darkness as gentle fingers stroked her cheeks.

The second time she came back to consciousness, her eyes fluttered open with no resistance. The palest light of morning was filtering through her windows, and Draco Malfoy was sitting next to her bed in an armchair that most definitely was not hers, watching her. His eyes seemed to gleam in the dim light as he studied her, likely waiting to see if she was truly awake.

“How do you feel?” His voice was cool satin in the silence.

She shifted with care, flexing everything from her fingertips down to her toes. She was a bit sore, but it was nothing a hot bath wouldn’t fix. “Fine, for the most part. What happened?”

“What do you remember?”

She strained, but she wasn’t certain what were dreams and what was real. It was like trying to hold tendrils of smoke in her fists. Finally, something concrete settled in her mind and her eyes widened. “I remember a crime scene, finding a femur bone that I suspect is actually a person, and an altar that blew up.”

“Correct on all three.” His voice was firm, business-like and displeased.

“You’re angry.”

“Of course, I'm angry!” His eyes tightened at the corners. “You were hurt, badly! You could’ve died.” His fingers gripped the plush arms of the chair until his knuckles were white and trembling.

She’d never seen him so furious.

A flash in her memory had her narrowing her eyes in thought. “I didn’t know you had Healer training.”

He exhaled forcefully through his nose. “Some. I typically keep a healing kit of sorts on me. Have ever since Seventh Year.” He looked away, towards the darker corners of the room.

She’d heard some of the horror stories from that year, and it made perfect sense to her to be prepared.

“Why am I here rather than St. Mungo’s?”

“It was pandemonium there. Several of the others were hurt pretty badly when they were tossed. So Potter brought you here, and I brought in the family Healer.”

“Isn’t that against protocol?”

He sighed and cocked a brow at her. “You were pretty bad off, and the Healer team was stretched rather thin. We weren’t going to gamble with your life.”

“Oh.” Oh. “Thank you.”

Whatever that Healer had done, they were exceptionally talented.

He gave a singular nod.

“How long have I been asleep?”

“You’ve been unconscious for a couple of days. Fawley put you under so your body could heal the quickest. You woke up around one in the morning, but you fell back asleep pretty quickly.”

She shouldn’t be surprised. It explained why time felt so discombobulated.

“Why are you still here? Surely you’d rather be in bed asleep? Weren’t you hurt at all?”

“Potter and I were able to get up shield charms just in time. We only incurred mere scratches. I wasn’t able to cast one on you because of that blasted warding. Potter was too distracted by everything else to hear what I was screaming at him.” He rolled his eyes. “As for the other bits, I wasn’t going to just leave you here. Potter, Weasley, and Red have all been camped out in your other bedroom and on the living room couch.”

“Don’t tell me you’ve been in that chair the entire time.”

“This chair is perfectly comfortable.”

“Why didn’t you transfigure it into a couch at least?”

“Because I didn’t want a couch.”

There was something he wasn’t telling her, but he was already getting agitated with her pushing, so she backed off. For now. Instead, she slithered a hand out from under the blankets and towards him. She vaguely remembered pieces of the fucked up morning that had occurred right before the catastrophe at the scene, but not much. Not enough to rationalize why she really shouldn’t want to be reaching for him. The fine details were hazy. She was warm and comfortable, and she really just wanted to feel his hands on her.

He watched her for a moment before he got up and sat on the edge of the bed, taking her hand in both of his. It was bliss and comfort and warmth, Even moreso than in the past. Why was that?

“You should sleep some more,” he murmured.

She didn’t think she had a choice in the matter. “Stay?”

“I’ll be right here.” He tilted his head towards his plush chair.

Her weak fingers gripped his as tightly as she could. “No, stay.” Her mind was shutting back down, and her massive vocabulary had dwindled down to a toddler’s range. She fought the insistent fall of her eyelids to watch him study her.

“Alright,” he said finally. He got up and put his back to the headboard. She shifted to her side, sliding her arm under her pillow and seeking him out again.

Her fingers slowly slid across his palm, giving him the choice to pull away, but he merely curled his hand around hers again, gliding his thumb in a leisurely circuit along her fingers.

“Sleep, Hermione. We’ll talk more when you wake.”

And so she did.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> See y'all next Saturday!


	15. Chapter 15

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope everyone is staying safe and staying away from people. Wash your hands, hunker down, look after each other, stay home unless you absolutely have to leave and we'll get through this!
> 
> Huge thanks to my Alpha/Betas NuclearNik and Monica03, without them I would be a mess and this story would be a disaster. Also a huge thanks to my Omegas (pre-readers) MarshmallowMcGonagall and QuinTalon!
> 
> To everyone who reads, subscribes, bookmarks, comments/reviews, follows, reblogs, likes, etc: I appreciate you all SO VERY MUCH. With the length of my chapters and the editing process, it leaves little time to come back and interact (I'll still try, however!). I promise though, all of it makes me go starry eyed and flail about every single time. Especially over the last couple of weeks while struggling creatively.
> 
> Disclaimer: I own nothing.

Despite the severity of the crisis going on in the department, Hermione had been forbidden from going back to work until the following Monday. Robards sent her a missive stating that the most important piece of evidence was already being worked on. The bone that she’d managed to save was now down in the Department of Mysteries being carefully worked over by the top two Curse-Breakers alongside an Unspeakable. After the incident with the altar, they didn’t trust it not to be booby-trapped. That bit put part of her mind at ease.

Ever since she’d finally woken up for good Wednesday, she’d had a revolving cast of company who did their best to not let her lift a finger except to get up and take her course of rejuvenation potions or a hot bath. Mrs. Weasley came over and cooked, Ginny kept her home feeling and smelling lemony fresh with some simple wand waving, and Harry and Ron kept her entertained when they were there. Even George had stopped by to discuss some complicated magic he was experimenting with for a new product. While they didn’t visit, Narcissa and Andromeda had sent over some delicate Kouign-Amann they’d made from an old Malfoy family recipe they’d unearthed while working on renovating the Manor. She’d had to ward the container from Ron or else he’d have eaten all of them.

Draco had been in and out for varying amounts of time. If nobody else was there, he would often sit and read with her, just close enough that their shoulders were barely touching. If someone else was there, he would use the greenhouses and garden as an excuse to be scarce, often returning with baskets full of fresh herbs and vegetables just before he left. She could always tell when he was there though, just by a feeling. That was new, and she noted those changes in her journal, along with what she remembered, or thought she remembered from the incident.

On Saturday, she’d all but kicked everyone out of her house after they all coalesced in her living room for brunch, seeing as there were too many of them to fit at the bar. Except one person who was conspicuously absent from the event altogether. She stated she felt just fine and had appreciated them all having been there for her, but now she needed a bit of quiet time. Afterwards, when the dishes were washed and put away, everyone stopped by for a hug before disappearing through the Floo. Harry had been the last to go, making her promise she would take it easy until he saw her again at work.

Once they were all gone, she stood there and just listened. Silence had never seemed so loud. It was a welcome thing, however; it gave her the peace of mind to think. Over the last few days, the entirety of what had happened Monday had come back to her, including pulling out of Draco’s hold and walking away from him. When she’d stopped herself from reaching for his hand on Thursday evening, he seemed resigned that she’d remembered but had stubbornly linked two fingers around her own. Since then, however, she’d kept her hands to herself, back to her original stance of resisting until they talked about things.

She'd had enough of sitting on the couch and being inside in general, so she changed into a pair of overalls and a threadbare shirt she favored when working outside. When she made it out into the sunshine, she noticed how much cooler the days had become. Ever since working at the Ministry, she’d spent less time overall in the yard, the weekends having brought rain more often than not.

The berry bushes beckoned, and she mindlessly harvested the bounty, filling basket after basket. She could spend the rest of the day making jam for friends with enough left over to last her until the bushes would produce again. Everything else after today’s harvest would either be frozen or gifted. Once she plucked the bushes bare, she levitated everything to the back porch and turned her attention to the greenhouses and garden.

She found little to do there however, seeing as Draco had haunted the areas over the past few days and had left everything neat and tidy. Less than a basket of herbs and vegetables joined its fellows on the porch, and she manually did the watering just for something to do.

She felt something twitch in her mind and somehow knew Draco had dropped by. She finished her self-invented busywork and exited the greenhouse. The baskets that had been neatly lined up were now gone and her heart sped up. He was likely there for the talk they’d meant to have on Tuesday. She made her way to the back door and slipped inside, pausing to listen. 

Water was running in the kitchen, but everything else was silent. Hermione ducked into the mudroom, washing up and changing out of her stained and dirty clothes into a sleeveless, sage linen jumpsuit.

She took her wand to her hair, smoothing it back up into a neat bun. If she was going to get any work done in the kitchen, her hair had to be out of her way entirely. Finally, when there was nothing left to stall with she padded down the short hallway and into the kitchen.

At the sink in a slate gray suit was Draco, washing the blackberries and dumping them into a large porcelain basin she’d never seen before. His jacket hung on a bar stool and his sleeves were neatly rolled up just past his elbows, showing off smooth, strong forearms. 

A thought about how those arms felt locked around her came unbidden to her mind, and she bit her lip. The potential that today held to change everything made the Hippogriffs in her stomach paw with unease.

His head raised from his task, and she knew he’d become aware of her. She sauntered over next to him and leaned against the counter. “You didn’t have to do that, but thank you.” She watched him skimming the berries where they were bobbing in the sink full of water before dumping them in with their fellows.

“I figured it was the least I could do after I ate that delectable blackberry tart you brought me. Besides, I imagine you spent hours outside picking them by hand rather than putting that wand to use.”

He wasn’t wrong. The solitude had been lovely and the activity allowed her mind to rest in the quiet. She shrugged at him, and he rolled his eyes without any heat behind the action.

“After I finish this batch, we’ll have lunch. I brought curry from that place you like so well.” He tipped his head towards a sturdy paper bag that she hadn’t noticed before, too caught up in the sight and thoughts of him.

After three days of Molly’s cooking, she was practically salivating over it. Molly’s food was delicious, of course, but it was something she was unused to eating day in and day out anymore. She’d be perfectly happy if she didn’t have another potato-heavy dish for another week or so.

“That sounds amazing. Thank you.” She shot him a grateful smile before moving to put down two place settings at the bar. 

He spelled the empty water clean again before sliding his wand back into its hip holster and joining her.

The tension grew the longer they were silent, and by the time they were finished with the meal, it was all she could do not to scream, set something on fire, or flee the room.

Just as she was about to say something, he set his fork down and slipped his hand over to lay atop of hers where it rested on her thigh. She snuck a look at him from the corner of her eye and noticed his shoulders had released the infinitesimal tension that she’d learned to be one of his tells. While she felt better in some ways, the Hippogriffs were rustling their wings again amongst all the curry she’d just eaten.

“Come.” He slid from his seat, not letting her hand go. Once she was standing, he led her to the couch and sat next to her.

She desperately wished he’d let her go so she could wring her hands. 

Suddenly, he turned and pinned her with an intense look. “I have a confession.”

Oh Merlin. Here it was. A confession. Confessions were never good. He was going to tell her he’d been leading her on and that he’d signed some sort of betrothal contract with one of those pure-blooded bints, and now they were either going to have to stop being friends or keep everything purely in public and she’d never again be squashed against him by those arms or feel the fingers she fantasized about still and—

The feel of his thumb gently pulling her lip from its pointy confines brought her back to reality, and her cheeks flamed for checking out on him. “Sorry,” she mumbled.

“Stay with me. Don’t go off in that head of yours and get lost again.” The corner of his mouth twitched.

He swallowed and for all of his confidence she couldn’t help but wonder if he was nervous. But why? He twisted in his seat until he faced her and captured both hands in his.

“So, I know we’ve only been friends for a few months now,” Oh Merlin, here it was, “but I find that I’m continually wanting to spend more and more time with you. Lunch with you is always too short, and after I dropped you off the night of the Cup I found myself wishing that we could have spent the rest of the night talking until the sun rose. Something I’ve never found with another woman.” He studied her a moment while moistening his lips with a flick of his tongue. “What I’m asking is will you be my consort?” His fingers gave the slightest tremor as they firmly held hers but aside from that she saw no indication of anything except pure earnestness.

Wait, what? It was a term she’d never heard before and she realized it must be a pure-blood thing. Was it like a girlfriend? It sounded like something far more serious and her mind flashed back to what Harry had told her before they went to investigate the scene the other day.

Her eyes widened. “What does that mean?” 

His mouth twitched. “I forget sometimes that you, in fact, do not know the entirety of everything.” He took a moment to glance around the room as if physically gathering scattered thoughts before he returned his attention to her. “In pure-blood society, the title of girlfriend is a trite one, a schoolyard notion with no real seriousness to it. I’m serious with my intentions towards you. This isn’t a passing fancy, and I couldn’t let another day go without asking you.”

She took a deep breath, then another, and then a third. This was terrifying. This was euphoric. She was still so confused. “But what about all those girls that’ve been coming to your office?”

His forehead crinkled. “What about them?”

“You could have your pick of any of those pure-blooded girls. I mean, they’re beautiful. They look like they just Apparated back from Milan. And you wouldn’t have to explain this to any of them.” Her eyes drifted to their hands until he let go with one hand and captured her chin, bringing her gaze back to him.

“You’re beautiful. They don’t matter. They’re nothing. Daughters of pure-blood families are expected to make a certain type of match whether or not they love or are even attracted to the wizard they’re seeking out. Now that the Malfoy name is headed back in the right direction, I imagine that’s been the cause of flocks of them turning up. Conniving mothers giving their daughters instructions in hopes of a wedding in the next year. The goal of being a Malfoy bride has been coveted ever since my ancestors lived in France. Being a Malfoy has always been equated with prestige, power, wealth; you get the idea. I want nothing to do with that. I want the person I choose to choose me back for me. When you look at me, you see me. You always have.” He swallowed again, eyes tightening, and he looked so hopeful.

She literally couldn’t bring herself to tell him no. Her mouth wouldn’t even form the word, not once she saw the realness of his words. She’d wanted him for a while now, if she were honest, and she saw no reason to deny herself after everything. 

She took in a shuddering breath and let it out. “Yes.” 

A slow smile crept over his face, his eyes lightening several shades. He caught her chin in a gentle grip once more and stroked his thumb across her bottom lip. “May I kiss you?”

“Please,” she whispered.

He cupped her neck and cradled her jaw as he leaned in. Her eyes fell closed in anticipation, and she sensed him pause for a second as if savoring the moment, before he pressed his mouth to hers once again. His lips were warm and soft as they moved against hers, and she wondered for a moment if she wasn’t floating off the couch. It was so much better than the last time. Or was that simply the effect of having longed for it since the last time?

Everything else faded away and there was only him, the feel of his chest under her hands as she ran them up and around his neck. The feelings before that erupted under his touch had intensified. Now what little attention wasn’t honed in on him was taken up by them.

It could have been an hour or a minute later when he pulled away only to press back in. He'd pulled away whenever she’d lean in to contribute pressure and eventually she was still, although she pressed the game in greedy ambition for more kisses now that he seemed agreeable to providing them. Eventually he pulled away and traced her bottom with his thumb again.

“Thank you.”

“For what?”

“Giving me a chance. I figured I’d have to beg you.”

“Why?”

He stared at her for a few moments. “Because of everything my side put you through. Everything that I contributed to.”

“You’re not them.”

“Still, I helped. I called you the worst thing a wizard can call a witch.”

“We were children and you did what you had to do. What you were ingrained to do.”

“Doesn’t matter. I was horrific.”

She leaned into his personal space. “You’re not the same person you were when we were twelve.”

“At seventeen I watched you be tortured, maimed, and I stood there and did nothing.” He couldn’t meet her eyes, instead clenching his jaw and looking over towards the Floo as his eyes darkened. If she had a guess, he was likely watching her in the mirror.

“And what did you expect to do? At best you’d have been tortured by your aunt. At worst, a slow, agonizing death by Voldemort after he murdered your parents. Or you'd have been given to Greyback.”

No amount of rigidity would’ve been able to contain his shiver entirely. She wondered how often that threat had loomed large or been dangled over Narcissa’s head to make him comply.

“Still—”

“No, Draco. Yet another situation where you had no realistic choice. You knew who we were and refused to positively identify us.”

“I don’t deserve—” 

At that point she’d had enough and pulled his chin towards her before planting her mouth on his. Now that she’d agreed to be his consort she no longer felt constrained to sit there and long for his affections. Hermione refused to hear him say that he didn’t deserve her for something he’d been forced to participate in. Childhood views from being steeped in it had been ripped away when it’d become real.

She’d never forget Sixth Year. She’d never said a word, but that didn’t mean she hadn’t noticed the way his diet had dwindled to tea or the sickly pallor that’d he’d worn for weeks. She’d wondered if he he'd caught an illness, or bore some sort of curse that needed breaking before it killed him. Instead, it’d just been the Earth-like weight of an impossible task wherein he was no Atlas but bore the weight the best he could.

She pulled away, cracking her eyes open to study him, and she had to bite her cheek to keep from grinning at the gobsmacked look on his face.

“That’s cheating,” he finally mumbled. “It doesn’t change—”

Again she invaded his space and claimed his mouth. Her fingers brushed the silky hair at the nape of his neck, and he shivered for a different reason this time as he released a soft sigh through his nose. After a few more moments, he broke away.

“You can’t keep doing that every time I try to say something you don’t want to hear.”

“Wanna bet? Besides, it’s not that I don’t want to hear it. It’s just that it’s a bunch of flaming rubbish.” Her fingers trailed along the nape of his neck again before falling back to her lap.

“Hermione, I don’t—” 

This time when she went to dart forward to seal his mouth shut with her own, he was ready. His hands darted to her waist and spun her around, pulling her into his lap. He wrapped his arms tightly around her, trapping her arms to her side.

“Cheating!” she shrieked as she tried to wriggle away with little success while he snickered.

He kept her back snugly pressed against his chest until she quit fighting. When she finally stilled with a huff, he dropped his head down and took advantage of her pinned up hair. He placed the barest kiss at the base of her neck, then slowly worked his way up to her ear. His lips quirked against her skin when her breath hitched. He dragged the tip of his nose along the delicate shell of her ear until his mouth rested against it.

“I don’t deserve you.” He pressed his cheek against her as she went rigid, blocking the movement when she made to turn her head to cut him off again and waited until she was still. “I don’t. I never once tried to protect you, and I’ll regret it the rest of my life. You’re good and daring and courageous and bold.” His pause seemed to imply they were traits he didn’t possess. “You deserve to be protected and treasured. I promise, from now on though, I’ll keep you safe. I’m capable in ways now that I wasn’t at seventeen. I’ll prove myself worthy of you. I swear it,” he murmured.

She clamped her jaw shut and closed her eyes. He’d already proven that he’d changed and was different. It was obvious to anyone who knew him. But perhaps it was something he needed to say and prove to himself more than to her. She took a deep breath in and relaxed as she let it out. 

“Is there anything else you feel the need to say while you’ve got me incapacitated? Anything else that I 'won’t like to hear'?” 

He might as well do it all in one go if there was anything else. He wouldn’t catch her so off guard again, she could promise him that.

“No, but I think communication is something we’re going to have to work on.”

“I communicate just fine. I simply lack the tolerance for you speaking of yourself the way you were.” She narrowed her eyes at him as she cut them over to watch him with the barest turn of her head, as if warning him not to push her on the assessment.

He slowly let her go, almost hesitant, as if he was ready for her to start throwing elbows or curses. She stood, spun, and reclaimed her former seat with her knees all but touching his as she settled back into her spot. 

“I honestly figured you would have had an arranged marriage.”

“My parents didn’t want that for me in the end. Thiers had been arranged for them and luckily it worked out well.”

“Is that common in pure-blood circles?” She tilted her head. 

It was something she’d always been curious about but never comfortable enough to ask. A long-winded rant wasn’t what she was looking for when it came to her questions about pure-blood families and customs, so she’d avoided asking the Weasleys. 

Draco leaned against the back of the couch, propping his cheek on his fist. “Yes and no. In an attempt to keep within pure-bloods, most families were careful with bloodlines to stave off inbreeding, which is inevitable in such a small circle. The parents that were careful presented their children with a list of options and the duty-bound children typically fell in with what their parents wished. If they couldn’t acquire their desired match from the options given within a specific timeframe, their parents would make a match for them. One usually based on furthering the family in standing, business, wealth, or power.” He languidly stroked along the backs of her fingers as he explained.

“I guess I expected it to have already been arranged from birth or as young children.”

“It does happen that way at times. It all depends on what’s going on in society, business, or politics at the time. Mother and her sisters were all arranged from a younger age because of the way things were beginning to shift and Grandmother was taking no chances... Or so she thought.”

His fingertips were wending their way beyond her wrist and up her forearm, making her shiver. She caught his hand in both of hers before he could distract her further and began to play with his fingers. He seemed amenable to her questions, so she was going to use the opportunity to ask about something she’d long wondered.

“Do people ever divorce?” She peeked up to see him watching her as if she was the only important thing in existence. The intensity made her pause and simply watch him in return.

He finally blinked and carried on as if they’d never paused. “Yes. Although there’s so much pressure to remain married and uphold an image that the spouses often work out a more open relationship after their children are born on the condition of extreme discretion and temporary sterilization to keep heirs limited to their family unit. It’s not unheard of, though. People often leave the country for a year or better to escape scrutiny and disdain if they can manage it.”

She scrunched her nose. How archaic. Sure, divorce would still be frowned upon by some in Muggle society, but it wasn’t to the point of needing to flee the country.

He grinned at her reaction. “Agreed. Anyway, the rules of pure-blood society are always in flux and are the ultimate factor on what people usually do for those who care. After this—when ultimately people will either have to marry from outside the country to maintain 'purity' or the children break from their parents, or the family caves to changing societal pressure—the pure-blood aspect will fade and it’ll transition to names and wealth for superiority. Whatever happens, there are customs and ideals that’ll likely always remain.”

“It’s doubtful much will really change outside of marriage prospects changing. The upper crust usually stays to themselves while the rest of the world goes on about its merry way,” Hermione said.

He shrugged. “I suppose. I’ve gradually moved investments out of the country to where I’m less beholden to the opinions and machinations of others here. I cleared out Father’s... poorer investment decisions so they couldn’t come back to bite later.”

“I don’t see how you manage working as an Auror and all of the finances. Wouldn’t it be easier to hire someone?” Maybe this was why he didn’t sleep much.

“I was always taught that it was unwise to trust anyone outside of the goblins at Gringotts, but that whole thing with the Ministry and the laws that got put in place during the Dark Lord’s reign, well, let’s just say that until that gets reversed I’m keeping things to the bare minimum with the bank. I’m able to manage if I take time everyday to look over the ledgers and go to Gringotts once a week. Otherwise, it takes days to sort out.”

He was more relaxed now that she’d agreed to be with him. Outside of when he’d taken his inadvertent nap in the park, she’d never seen him so comfortable. He was facing her with his side pressed against the back of the couch and his calf crossed under his knee in order to keep his feet off the couch. Consorts must be serious business for him to feel this free around her, and she hoped she hadn’t gotten in over her head, but it just felt so right.

“Do you know if anything’s being done to reverse the changes? It’s been over two years now.”

“I keep my ear to the ground and from what I’ve heard things are moving, but you know how bureaucracy moves. First they had to deal with all the trials, punishments, reparations, and get society settled back down. From what I understand, they’re in the end stages of investigating everything that was changed so they can do a series of reversals and adjustments all in one fell swoop. The project’s a massive one, and I don’t see anything happening until sometime next year. It’s simply a matter of patience.”

Draco could have patience when it came to certain things, but this must be something that not even Malfoy money could speed up.

“Well, hopefully it can be rapidly dealt with once they understand the depth of it.”

They were quiet for a few minutes before he seemed to remember something. “I almost forgot, I have something for you. Conversations with you always seem to take me away in new directions,” he chortled as he got up to retrieve something from his suit coat.

She’d never admit how much she loved his soft, breathy laughs. It seemed that there was a gentle side of him that he reserved for her alone. The thought squeezed her heart delightfully.

She smirked as he pulled a bottle of something from his pocket and sat it on the counter. He’d been sneaking undetectable extension charms like she had. He pulled something else from a pocket that she couldn’t see and returned to her with it and what she discovered to be a bottle of champagne.

“From one of your vineyards?”

He nodded and conjured two flutes, popping the cork on the bottle before sliding his wand back into the holster on his arm. He filled them both but before he handed her one, he pulled out a small, velvet box. He flipped it open and spun it around, resting the box in his palm. There, nestled in velvet was a platinum ring with a large, oval, pure white diamond ringed with small round emeralds.

“Before your ideas run away with you, this is not an engagement ring. This is a token from me to show the seriousness of the intent I have toward you in asking for you to be my consort. Others who understand will know that you’re spoken for. It bestows upon the wearer some basic protections like minor shielding, and Mother said that one of our grandmothers attempted to imbue it with luck. Don’t know how successful that was, but it doesn’t hurt. Especially with the way your fortune runs.” 

Scowling for a moment, she realized he wasn’t exactly wrong, and she’d nearly been blown up the other day. She’d been severely traumatized in a war where she’d been tortured and maimed, and In school she’d been petrified, cursed, transmorphed into a cat, and many other things.

“It’s beautiful, Draco.” It must have been very old, a family heirloom, and he was entrusting it to her. Her fingers itched to touch it, but she wasn’t sure what she should do. He must have read it in her expression.

“You can wear it on any finger. If you don’t mind, I’d like to put it on you myself.”

She extended her right hand and lifted her index finger. For years she’d worn a ring from her mother. She’d refused to take it off during the Hunt, but after her estrangement from her parents she’d put it away in a jewelry box, unable to look at it without being torn apart inside. Maybe this would help mend something inside her. It was a risk, however, because she somehow knew if she ever had to return the ring something would permanently break inside her. Abandonment twice would do her in.

He plucked the ring from the box before discarding it in his lap and cradling her hand. He gently guided the ring along her finger and she felt it heat for a moment and shrink to her finger when he slid it all the way on.

“You have to take this off with intent. It’s designed to where only you or I can remove it, so it can never be stolen and it can never fall off.” He admired it for a moment before handing her a glass.

Euphoria, exhilaration, and glee danced in her veins. Her eyes only drifted from Draco to rest on the ring that cemented the gravity of the situation to reality. Harry was going to have a coronary. She couldn’t wait.

“To us.” He raised his glass to her.

She gently tapped it with hers. “And to our future.”

They both drank deeply, grins playing at their mouths.

“Now that you’ve accepted, Mother wants to formally meet you.”

“But I’ve met Narcissa before.” She frowned in confusion.

“Pure-blood custom, darling. At least Lucius won’t be there to make you uncomfortable.”

There was always that but despite that fact, she would have suffered his father for him if need be.

“Alright. Where?”

“Tea at the Manor, next saturday at three. They just redid the eastern wing.”

She nodded. It was just tea with his mother, she could do it.

“I don’t suppose you have any sort of book on social codes or the like do you?”

He thought about it for a minute. “Maybe. I’ll check the library at home for it and send it over if such a thing exists.”

She prayed to all the deities that it did.

They drank their way through the bottle, talking about nothing and everything. Holding hands, brushing knees. Occasionally one of them would steal a kiss. Every time her ring was nudged the Hippogriffs in her belly rustled their wings.

When darkness fell, Draco checked his watch. “I need to get going, Mother is expecting me for dinner in an hour.”

Her heart sank, but she understood. “Lunch tomorrow?”

He nodded and rose. She followed suit and walked him to the fireplace.

“I can’t express how happy you’ve made me today.” He pulled her hand up to kiss her fingers, kissing the ring last before leaning down and pressing his mouth to hers. She cupped his face in her hands and pulled back enough to look him in the eye.

“You’ve made me happier than I’ve been in a long time too,” she said before pushing up on her toes and resuming the kiss.

His pocket watch chimed again and he pulled away with a grunt of displeasure. “I’ll owl you later.”

“I’ll be looking for it.” She grinned.

He stroked his thumb along her bottom lip before turning and stepping into the Floo where he was engulfed in a swirl of green flames, giving her one last longing look before he disappeared entirely.

She spent the rest of the evening floating around her house in a daze of disbelieving glee. She’d never looked forward to a lunch date so much.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> See you all next Saturday! <3


	16. Chapter 16

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope everyone is staying safe and staying away from people. Wash your hands, hunker down, look after each other, stay home unless you absolutely have to leave and we'll get through this!
> 
> Huge thanks to my Alpha/Betas NuclearNik and Monica03, without them I would be a mess and this story would be a disaster. Also a huge thanks to my Omegas (pre-readers) MarshmallowMcGonagall and QuinTalon!
> 
> To everyone who reads, subscribes, bookmarks, comments/reviews, follows, reblogs, likes, etc: I appreciate you all SO VERY MUCH. With the length of my chapters and the editing process, it leaves little time to come back and interact (I'll still try, however!). I promise though, all of it makes me go starry eyed and flail about every single time.
> 
> Disclaimer: I own nothing.

Things were quiet for approximately three weeks after Hermione was released back to work. She sifted through the evidence meticulously and began her research into the types of magics that could be the source at play. She’d essentially interviewed Draco to milk him of the knowledge he had on the topic. Earth magic wasn’t something she’d ever heard of before, and he warned her that she may not find anything in any official library unless she went out of the country, or perhaps to an old pure-blood’s personal library.

Before she could say anything, he’d summoned a plethora of books from his office that lined themselves up neatly in stacks across the front of her desk, impeding her ability to see everything except from his shoulders up. She’d spent a good week after that reading through the tomes and asking Draco question after question. She wanted to ask why this sort of magic was so limited to pure-blood households but held off. 

She wasn’t quite sure if it was restricted to the old families or if it was just they that kept books on it. It could be something basic and common knowledge, and she didn’t want to have record of seeming bigoted towards pure-bloods until she knew more.

When she'd first come back to work, she had cleared away the furniture and stuffed it all along the wall her office door was on, and she had begun to affix notes, drawings, photographs, and parchment to the walls so she would have an appropriate overview of all the evidence and leave her desk clear. For Hermione, a clear desk equated to a clearer mind, greater focus, and a better chance of not overlooking an important piece of evidence because it was buried.

The most important piece of evidence to date had been unraveled at the beginning of the third week. The Unspeakables had been able to safely transfigure the bone back into the victim. She’d run into another wall almost immediately, however, because the victim’s head and hands had been removed. It shifted the pool of suspects immensely because that sort of behavior was something Muggle serial killers did, and something half-bloods and Muggle-borns alike would know about. She’d spent the rest of the week researching Wizarding murders.

On Thursday all hell had erupted again. The full moon had come round again, and again there was another crime scene to investigate. This time instead of Harry, Justin Finch-Fletchley had showed up at her door to escort her. Apparently it was his turn to accompany her. 

This scene was quieter than the first one. Robards had theorized that perhaps too many people at the first scene had been distracting, so when they arrived it was just the two of them and Colin Creevey. Hermione didn’t think that’d been the problem at all but hadn’t mentioned it. The fewer people around to interfere and potentially contaminate the scene the better.

The same warding lines were in place, this time placed by Finch-Fletchley before he’d been sent to retrieve her. It was eerily quiet and that same feeling of being watched that she’d experienced at her home before Draco added the extra wards crept over her. Draco theorized Scrying as the reason she’d felt watched, and it wouldn’t surprise her if the person or people behind this was watching now as well.

She made a mental note to request occlusion added to all scenes, but Hermione didn’t want to leave or give away the fact that she was now aware they had an audience somewhere. Before continuing on into the scene, Hermione observed that it was similar to last time. A stone altar almost identical to the last one was present, blood smeared the grass, and there were black scorch marks scattered about. The sight of the bloody and blackened alter gave her chills after last time.

Instead of focusing on that, she went on with casting her repertoire of complex spells in sweeping swaths. The golden glow illuminated the area, lighting up evidence that’d been left by those present at the ceremony. Justin cast the same markers Harry had the last time, and Colin photographed them from his broom. Also, like before, the hairs across her body stood on end the closer they got to the altar. 

Unlike last time, however, there was nothing inside of it, which brought about relief and disappointment. She didn’t want a repeat of the last time, but it also meant the victim was either taken by the perpetrators or hidden somewhere else. After it was photographed, she cleaned away the viscera so everything could be seen properly. Colin began snapping away again while Hermione circled around to the backside.

While there was no blood on the backside, the tall grass had been trampled, and she cast more spells to highlight the path the person took. Hermione followed alongside the trail, passing outside of the wards towards the forest edge.

“Hermione! Wait for me!”

There was something pale peeking up out of the thicker patches of grass and instinctually, Hermione knew it was their transfigured victim. She sped towards it.

“Hermione! WAIT!”

As soon as she hit the forest edge, her feet came out from underneath her, and she found herself instantly dangling twenty feet above the ground. Somewhere in the back of her mind, she was grateful that she’d worn trousers today. The rest of her brain, however, was trying to calm itself down in order to get herself out of this mess.

Draco was going to strangle her when he found out she’d run off without her guard. Harry too. Although it was likely nothing compared to what they were going to do to Justin for letting her give him the slip while he was working with Colin.

Her two cohorts came zooming over, Justin trampling any potential evidence and Colin making his way up to her on his broom. When he got about ten feet from her, however, it was as if he hit a wall.

“Fuck,” Colin growled. He pulled his wand and began to cast diagnostics of his own. 

She reached for her own wand and realized it was gone. White-hot terror enveloped her and it was as if she were on the drawing-room floor again at Malfoy Manor. Wandless and at the mercy of some malevolent entity. In hindsight it’d obviously been a trap, but had it been for her specifically or any investigator in the DMLE?

Justin’s meltdown was escalating with each spell he cast that did nothing to change the situation. Colin was having a better time of it than he was, luckily.

“Colin, go get Harry, Draco, and some Curse Breakers before Justin loses his mind or worse.” Her eyes strayed to the ground, and she sucked in a ragged breath. Too high;  _ it was too high up. _ A glinting caught her attention and she spotted her wand, gleaming in the morning sunlight. She focused with what little mental strength she had left, her fingers stretching out as if to summon her wand to her. She’d done it before from much smaller distances, and she could see it twitching on the ground, but it felt like something was dampening the effect.

Whoever had set the trap had likely woven in an anti-magic layer. She felt a presence somewhere behind her in the forest and something in her knew it was the setter of the trap. She began flailing in earnest despite her upside-down position. Justin shrieked another incantation and finally found the thread that held everything together. 

She remained in the air for a moment more as the magic dispelled before gravity took over governance, and she plummeted to the ground. She heard Justin’s shrill voice a split second before she landed—still upside down—with a loud crack. Her body rolled to where she was lying on her back.

Her effort to move her arm or leg was met with nothing, and she felt her heartbeat pulsate behind her eyes but could not feel it beat in her chest.

Justin was standing over her then, and she followed him with her eyes to have something to focus on in an attempt to stem the rising panic.

“Hermione! Hermione are you okay? I’m so sorry,  _ so _ sorry!!” His hands fluttered uselessly over her, and she wondered what he saw as his face blanched.

A rustling from the treeline caught both of their attention, but she couldn’t turn her head to see what it was. Justin apparently couldn’t see who or what was there either since his eyes kept tracking back and forth along the foliage with his wand gripped in a white-knuckled, trembling grasp.

“Wand,” she wheezed. Wait, why was she wheezing?

“Accio wand,” he whispered. A second later he was tucking it into his sleeve.

While she preferred he return it to her, since her body wasn’t responding to commands she was giving it, she was at least relieved it was back in ally hands rather than being left in the open at the scene of a horrific crime.

A jet of red came from the treeline and her companion dodged at the very last second, flattening himself next to her as he cursed. He yanked a handkerchief from an inner pocket, and she felt her cloak jostle against her chin as her head lifted. He must’ve wrapped his arms around her.

“Hang tight, we’re about to get you help.”

The jerk of Portkey travel was missing but the compression on her already pounding head wasn’t missed.

Her ears were ringing but she could faintly hear Justin screaming for help. The thunder of feet preceded a hoard of people surrounding them. He was carefully pulled away, probably explaining what had transpired.

She saw the silvery flash of a Patronus being sent as the head healer came into sight; an older, white-haired gentleman with a bushy mustache and gentle, pale blue eyes.

“You’re going to be fine. We’re going to make you good as new. I’m about to put you under and when you wake, you’ll be right as rain.” He almost sounded like he was speaking underwater. 

A flash of pink light was the last thing she remembered.

***********************************************************************************************************************************************  
  
  


Draco’s day had been absolute shit.

He’d gotten used to having more than two hours of sleep ever since he’d begun building a relationship with Hermione. He felt better than he had since Fifth Year. Until today.

Last night he’d been plagued with rotten dreams. Everything from Hermione being angry over his secret and cutting off all contact to some awful thing happening to her and ending with her lifeless gaze staring up at him. He’d eventually given up on sleep and had resorted to using a Pepper-Up potion.

The day hadn’t improved since then, though. Oh no, it continued to get worse once he’d arrived at work. Potter had spilled hot coffee over both him and his pile of reports, and then they’d been sent to a house where suspicious roars had been coming from. There, they found illegal experimental breeding and when they’d made to arrest the two wizards, their supersized fire-breathing lizards had come after Potter and him both.

After having to call in back-up, Draco arrived back at work singed and smoking. His uniform was ripped in several places, he was scratched and bleeding in some places, and he was almost certain he was going to have to get a haircut to remove the burned bits. At least he was due for one. His neck and shoulders were killing him.

He glanced longingly at the darkened office across the hall. She’d been gone for three hours now. It made his gut twist uncomfortably after all the dreams the night before. If he knew where she was, he’d go there immediately. He was seconds from hunting down Robards when the man stalked past his doorway with Finch-Fletchley cowering behind him like a kicked puppy. Yet still there was no Hermione.

“Malfoy. Potter. Come with me,” Robards snapped as he marched on at a furious pace.

Draco leapt to his feet and sped out of the room like his robes were on fire. Again.

_ Oh no. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. _ Finch-Fletchley had been assigned to be her handler for the day. What had happened?

Draco felt his mind begin to bend at the implication and forced himself to remain calm. It would be obvious if she were dead. His mind would warp, and he’d not be able to stop it.

They went down a long hallway to the soundproof rooms that had no windows. His fingers tapped along in rapid pace against his trousers before he curled them into tight fists. He was seconds away from scruffing the Hufflepuff and demanding answers when they arrived at the appropriate conference room. 

They filed in and took seats with Robards shutting and warding the door behind him.

“Where’s Hermione?” Harry demanded. Apparently, Potter had some idea of what was going on and it didn’t bode well for Draco’s theories.

Justin sat hunched over, his arms folded over his midsection. “St. Mungo’s.”

Draco’s nostrils flared, and he scented a tangy, sour blend of shame and fear as it clouded the room. “ _ Why? _ ”

A shudder rippled through the terrified Auror as the room tinged with magic. Even if the situation had called for Veritaserum, it wouldn’t have been needed; the truth was clear 

“Someone set a trap at the edge of the forest. Hermione picked up on the trail that’d been laid. She wouldn’t stop when I called to her, and we couldn’t get to her in time. Before we could make it halfway across the field she was already up in the air. Everything I tried to do to get her down failed. It was like someone had set a cloche down over her. Colin tried to get to her to pull her onto his broom, but he kept running into a wall. I tried every cancellation spell I knew...” He swallowed heavily. “After I finally found the thread to undo the trap, I was unable to give her any sort of cushion. She fell  _ so fast _ . Unnaturally fast.”

The room was silent with the exception of ragged breathing, and the air shimmered with magic. Draco’s fingers trembled atop the table and suddenly the rip of fabric filled the room. His chair was knocked away, broken to pieces with the force of his wings as they erupted from his back.

Draco could see his reflection in Justin’s eyes as he leaned in close. His eyes, normally gray, were entirely silver.

“What. Happened. To. Her?”

He was looming, his wings opening. Justin had let her get hurt. He’d let her walk into a trap.

“She was paralyzed from the neck down where she landed on it. I left her with the Healers and sent a Patronus to Robards, who summoned me back here. There was no time to do anything else, whoever set the trap was coming. We got away just in time by Portkey. I initially thought she was dead.” Justin was shaking hard enough for his teeth to chatter.

Draco’s fingers dug into the surface of the table, and he absently noted that they’d transformed into long, pointed claws that dug into the wood as if it were butter. 

Then Justin was screaming, shrinking into his chair as his eyes bulged and the tendons in his neck stretched taut as he threw his head back as if in effort to pull away from the creature tormenting him as he slid down onto the floor.

He screamed and screamed until suddenly, Draco was pinned to the wall under the weight of both Potter and Robards. The room went silent with the exception of harsh, ragged breathing. Justin had passed out and lay in a still heap under the table.

It was then that the magic in the room disbursed in a swirl of wind. Panicked voices thundered into the previously silent space to the shock of their owners.

“Suspension! For a month!” Robards declared once he realized he could speak at will again. “Be glad it’s not a one-way ticket to Azkaban. If it weren’t for how useful you can be in your unique role in the department as a Veela, I’d have you sent there immediately for not registering yourself and then using your powers on a fellow Auror.” He straightened himself and took a deep breath, eyes falling closed as he leashed his anger. He was silent for many moments, gathering and grounding himself. “I suppose it would be prudent to make you Granger’s permanent partner as a preventative measure. I’ll have Finch-Fletchley taken care of, then we’ll go to St. Mungo’s.”

Robards glanced over at Justin before sweeping out of the room.

A moment later a hand gripped the front of his uniform, and Potter forcibly dragged him into the interrogation room across the hall. The door slammed as Harry all but threw him in the direction of a chair that he refused to take. Potter was his equal and Draco was not a criminal to be interrogated.

“What did he mean by that, Malfoy? Why would it be prudent to make you partners?” Harry said, eyes blazing as the two men stared each other down.

Draco folded his arms and leaned against the edge of the table maintaining his silence as the vein in Harry’s forehead began to visibly throb. That couldn’t be healthy.

“Not that I owe you anything, but she’s my mate.”

“Mate?”

“Yes, Potter, as in soulmate. No one can protect her like I can.”

“Does she know?”

“No.”

“You _ have _ to tell her, Malfoy. Hermione doesn’t appreciate being left in the dark.”

“I’ll tell her when the time’s right, Potter, and you  _ won’t _ breathe a word about this to another soul.” Draco bared his teeth after issuing the edict.

“But—”

“But nothing! This should be as much of a choice as possible for her. You  _ won’t _ tell anyone, not even Red. I refuse to make her feel obligated. It’s bad enough that so much has been taken from her already, I won’t let this be another thing as much as I can help it.”

Harry studied him, opened his mouth then promptly closed it. His eyebrows pulled together. “You’ve cared for her for a while now then?”

“Something like that.”

“How long?”

Draco refused to divulge information to Scarhead that Hermione had no inkling of. “A while.”

Harry clenched his jaw at Draco’s lack of cooperation. Before Harry could ask any more intrusive questions or lay hands on him, the door was flung open, and Robards stood there, his eyes rolling at their hostile posturing. Behind him, two Memory Specialists were entering the other room, and Draco suspected that his little episode was about to be erased from Finch-Fletchley’s memory. It was for the better, honestly.

“Whatever you two have going on, save it for later. I’ve received official summons to St. Mungo’s, and both of you have been listed as Granger’s emergency contacts. Time to go.” Robards turned and marched off towards what Draco presumed to be the department Floo.

Draco absently wondered when Hermione had done that. He waited on Potter to leave first, not trusting the man to walk behind him at the moment, Veela or not. They made their way to the Floo, and Draco soon found himself in one of the few places that made him uncomfortable. He hated hospitals, always had, but it’d become a fear of his that one of his parents would be taken there in an emergency, and their secret would be exposed.

He and Potter silently walked side by side until they caught up with Robards, who was holding up a wall in the silent, sterile hallway on the ground floor. Potter took up a spot on the other side of the door, so Draco chose to stand across the hall from the still-glaring man. 

Eternity crept by to the beat of ticking seconds from inside Draco’s inner coat pocket. Potter was grinding his teeth in a clear effort to keep from interrogating Draco or throwing fists. The door to the room they’d surrounded finally opened after an hour, and all three heads snapped to attention. An elderly Healer with rimless spectacles and pure white hair stepped in their midst holding a thick folder. After he checked each way and found them alone, he began to speak.

“It was a close thing. Miss Granger has some incredible luck on her side, else she would either have died or been paralyzed from the neck down permanently. Honestly, between the Portkey travel and the incident itself, I’m not sure how she’s still alive. After she’s released, she’ll have to stay with someone round the clock, that can take care of her—”

“I’ll do it.” Draco spoke up before Harry could open his mouth. “I have two house-elves that can help me ensure she’s cared for round the clock.”

“That would be optimal. She cannot do stairs, cannot stoop, crouch, bend, lift more than two pounds, or sleep on her stomach. I have a regimen of potions drawn up for pain relief, rejuvenation, and to help strengthen the damaged tissue back to its former state.”

“How long?”

“Pardon?”

“How long until she’s released?”

“Oh, a week or so.”

That wouldn’t do, at all. There was no way in hell Draco was going to leave her here unguarded. He felt an itch between his shoulder blades at the biological desire to transform and demand to be able to take her.

“Can we see her now?” Potter asked as he bounced on his toes. The impatient little toad. However, it could play out to Draco’s favor if the other two were out of the way.

“Yes, just be very careful. You can hold her hand, touch her arm, but don’t jostle her. Don’t move her. If she wakes, make sure she doesn’t move. A charm will alert the staff when she comes back round.”

Potter and Robards both slipped into the room and the door fell shut behind them. Draco faced the Healer who was watching him curiously.

“How much would it cost to get her released to a private Healer?” Draco asked, voice low.

“Who’s the Healer?”

“Phineas Fawley.”

“All I would need is a transfer request. I know Phineas from when he first came from the continent and worked here at St. Mungo’s as a damage specialist for many years.”

Draco nodded sharply. “You’ll have it by the end of the day.” He took a deep breath and let it out slowly. The Healer seemed to sense he had more questions and so remained silent. “Will she recover fully?”

“If she adheres to her restrictions and cooperates with the recommended physical therapy, then I’d say it’s extremely likely. We won’t know the extent of the damage until we can measure against milestones she should reach on the road to recovery. Honestly, she’s lucky to be alive. The jerk of Portkey travel and compression of Apparition are hell on injuries, but if you have no other choice then you do what you must.”

Draco nodded and shook hands with the Healer before the man took off at a brisk pace towards the other end of the hallway where other Healers and nurses were converging on a new arrival.

Draco put his hand on the knob and made a decision. He could help her like he did after her last accident. He’d just have to get Robards to leave and preferably Potter too, but it would likely help his case with getting the man to back off if he saw that Draco was earnest in his intent when it came to Hermione.

He took a deep breath and turned the handle, slipping into the dimly lit room. She was so still, her normally tanned skin pale under the magical light. She was propped on pillows, a brace around her neck. Her hair was piled into a neat bun atop her head and her hands were resting atop the blankets by her sides. Pajama sleeves hid most of her from view but a few bruises peeked out of the collar and the ends of the sleeves.

_ She’s not dead. She’s not dead. She’s not dead. _

His fingertips tingled and he clenched his hands into fists, willing the urge away. She was fine, and he was going to do whatever he had to do to put her right again. He glanced at the other two men to see Potter sitting in a chair, his head in his hands. 

Robards stood at the foot of her bed, his brows pulled together. “We have to catch this bastard before he kills one of our own. It’s clear he’s trying.”

If Finch-Fletchley was to be believed in his recounting of the event, Draco wasn’t so sure. The first event could be chalked up to evidence destruction. But this time was different. Why set a trap designed to detain? Why not an instant kill trap? They weren’t that hard if you knew what you were doing. Portkey your victim to you to dispose of, or set an underwater trap to drown, or a room filled with fire, or somewhere remote and abandoned for a slow, agonizing death. The possibilities were endless for a creative mind. It didn’t make sense.

“I have to go do paperwork. I’ll frame it to where you’re taking emergency leave but the three of us know the truth. Do not do that again, ever, or you’ll never see daylight again. Understand?” Robards turned his dark, glinting eyes on Draco to emphasize the threat.

Draco simply nodded once and moved to the other side of her bed. A languid wand wave later had him a plush navy chair that he perched on. Not caring that he was being watched, he pulled her hand into his, tenderly covering it with his other one.

A thin strip of wood was placed at the foot of the bed and the click of shoes on tile came moments later. Draco snagged her wand and laid it on the bedside table where it would be safe. He knew she would want it after she woke. After the door clicked shut, Draco looked across the bed to see Potter already watching him. 

“Don’t flip on me, Potter, or else you’ll have the  _ other _ version of me to contend with.”

“What—”

Draco didn’t bother to explain. He closed his eyes and tapped into his magic, calling on his heritage and focusing on his mate as he pushed it out through his palms. The coolness of her skin warmed under his touch. When he was finished he examined her wrist and saw that the bruises were largely gone. The worst of them were now mere shadows on her skin, and she’d regained much of her color. Her chest rose higher than before, her breathing less labored.

Potter stared at him with wide eyes. “Did you just heal her?”

His eyes drifted back to her still sleeping form. “Not fully. I helped things along. I can’t do too much right now or they’ll get suspicious. Some things will just have to heal on their own in their own time, but some things I can make better for her.” He had yet to let go of her hand.

“You did it the other day, didn’t you? At the second scene. That’s why she wasn’t hurt like she should have been after being flung through the air and bounced across the ground.”

“Yes.”

Potter sighed and stared at Hermione. Draco could practically see the gears turning and was waiting for smoke to erupt from the other man’s ears any moment from overworking. “I don’t like it, not after everything that happened when we were in school, but I also acknowledge that I have no say in it. If you hurt her though, soulmate or not, I will maim you.”

“Noted.” Draco didn’t doubt Harry would try, and he couldn’t fault the man for his intentions. 

While he was silently jealous over some of the men in Hermione’s life, Potter wasn’t in their ranks. When he was able to feel the faint edges of Hermione’s emotions, he found he could usually detect intent in most people in regards to her, and it was one of the many reasons he kept her so close to him in public. Potter, however, had only ever registered as familial. Brotherly, but more. Draco theorized that it was due to choice rather than happenstance of birth, along with the war and how both were orphans. While Hermione technically had her parents, he’d long since gathered that the ties were forever severed over what she’d had to do to keep them safe.

Draco had sacrificed for his parents, but Hermione had sacrificed herself to ensure they’d live. His heart ached for her in the rare moments she spoke of them. It was evident she still loved them deeply even after they’d thrown her away in the ultimatum they’d made. She, however, still held onto them tightly. 

When he’d watched over her after the previous incident, he’d noted a stack of ornamental boxes, tucked next to a bookcase in her bedroom. While Draco hadn’t opened them to examine the contents, he could smell a mix of her own scent and two others that carried similar base notes. He speculated they were the mementos she took from the family home before she’d left the last time for good, thus carrying the intermingling scents.

Privately, Draco had never understood how a parent could throw their own child away. Be they magical, Muggle, or Squib. Family was everything, and you didn’t just give up on them as if they were nothing. His mother and aunt had demonstrated this when they reconnected after it was safe to do so again. Apparently his mother had sneaked his aunt some funds, supplies, and a two-way journal when she’d been sent after Andromeda to talk some sense into her when she’d been banished. It was the only thing that gave them the ability to reconcile afterwards. His thoughts turned to his father, and he quickly corralled them back into their box and slammed the lid on it. Thinking of Lucius would only serve to upset him and right now wasn’t about him. He began to breathe in time with Hermione and calmed back down.

“I think something else is at play,” Potter muttered suddenly.

“Pardon?”

“Robards said he thinks someone is trying to kill one of us, but that doesn’t fit.”

“I was thinking the same thing earlier.”

There was an awkward pause before Potter shook his head like a dog with water in its ears. “Perhaps it’s a good thing she’ll be staying with you. Weird as that is to be saying, Hermione isn’t careful enough. She’s smart but she also trusts her friends, or those she thinks to be her friends, too much. She won’t be cautious enough despite her paranoia.”

“Do you think someone she knows is behind this?” It wouldn’t be unusual. The Wizarding World was a small one, all things considered, and if she was being targeted it would likely be by someone she knew.

“My gut says yes. She made her fair share of enemies over the years. Now that she’s finally coming out in public again, she’s making herself available to target.”

Draco didn’t know and didn’t care who it was. He would do anything to keep her safe and wasn’t above using anything at his disposal to do so. Bribery, blackmail, torture, murder, and many other things were all readily available tools to him. The Malfoy grounds were extensive and he had his own secret boltholes in which to execute these activities.

He wondered if Potter knew he’d shored up her wards with some additional ones after Hermione told him about the weird feelings she’d been unable to shake. Normally he wouldn’t divulge such things, but doing so might give him some additional information.

“Did she tell you she thought she was being watched?”

“What?” Potter whispered, as if Draco’s question had stolen his breath.

“I took her dinner a few weeks ago after work and found her asleep on the couch. When she woke up, she flipped out, and she finally told me she felt like she was being watched but couldn’t figure out why. I told her if she ever felt in danger to get out and go to a friend. I found her in my traveling room one day after work and convinced her to let me study her wards and make some adjustments. The only weak point that I could find was that she was unprotected from Scrying. It’s the only thing that explains what she was experiencing. She hasn’t said anything since then.”

“From what?”

“Scrying, Potter. I thought you went to Hogwarts. I know Trelawney was fucking ridiculous in her theatrics, but one would think you’d have picked _ something _ up from years of course material. It’s a way to watch another person. Sometimes through a mirror or even fire but most often with water. Scrying is not your usual spellwork, and it’s not something just anyone can do either. You have to have Seer talent or be able to harness the ability of a Seer.”

Potter brushed off the jab, rolling his eyes. “Well, we know there are accomplices. Can you trust any of your contacts to put their ear to the ground and see if they can catch wind of anything?”

“Already ahead of you, as usual. They’re supposed to get back to me this week. If it’s mainly British wizards, it’ll be hard to catch them. They’d have to be either blood purists or Voldemort supporters who weren’t suspected or caught. The Ministry keeps a tight leash on those who aren’t in Azkaban.”

Harry rubbed at his scar, and Draco’s eyes went straight to the motion, causing Harry to drop his hand back down to his lap. “Relax Malfoy, there’s nothing there. It’s just a habit I’ve yet to shake.” He paused for two breaths. “You don’t think the prison will be breached again, do you?”

Draco pursed his lips. “As much as I’d like to say no, I put nothing up to chance. It may not even have anything to do with Voldemort or that lot. It could be a different faction entirely, preying on a society that’s still stabilizing. We need to start ruling people out and soon, or we’re going to get blindsided when these bastards finally do come out of the shadows.”

The two men lapsed into silence as they mulled over their own thoughts, each watching the woman in the bed who was now clearly involved somehow. 

Draco hadn’t expected Potter to get on his side, and he still didn’t care for the man, but anything that aided him in keeping Hermione safe he would gladly tolerate.

All that was left was to wait for her to wake.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> See you all next Saturday!


	17. Chapter 17

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope everyone is staying safe and staying away from people. Wash your hands, hunker down, look after each other, stay home unless you absolutely have to leave and we'll get through this!
> 
> Huge thanks to my Alpha/Betas NuclearNik and Monica03, without them I would be a mess and this story would be a disaster. Also a huge thanks to my Omegas (pre-readers) MarshmallowMcGonagall and QuinTalon!
> 
> To everyone who reads, subscribes, bookmarks, comments/reviews, follows, reblogs, likes, etc: I appreciate you all SO VERY MUCH. With the length of my chapters and the editing process, it leaves little time to come back and interact (I'll still try, however!). I promise though, all of it makes me go starry eyed and flail about every single time. The comments on chapter 16 were SO LOVELY and I thank every single one of you for them! <3<3<3
> 
> Disclaimer: I own nothing.

The first thing Hermione registered was that it was dim and cool. Secondarily, there was something around her neck, and her hand was ensconced in two large, warm, familiar ones. Where was she? What happened?

“I think she’s waking up.”

“You don’t say,” a voice drawled. 

Draco. 

What were he and Harry doing here? Wherever  _ here _ was.

She slowly opened her eyes, blinking away the bleariness from being put under. It took a second to regain her bearings but once she did, her gaze drifted to the two wizards on either side of her bed. She made to turn her head but found she was unable to look in any direction aside from straight ahead. Her hand shot to her neck and felt the thick brace. Experimentally, she wiggled her toes and sighed in relief at being able to move again.

Harry’s forehead was scrunched, his eyes crinkled at the corners, and a frown pulling at his mouth. He’d worn that expression before in Fifth Year after the Battle of the Department of Mysteries. They’d relegated her to the hospital wing for weeks thanks to Dolohov’s curse, and more than once she’d woken up to the sight of Harry sitting at her bedside, looking much the same as he did now. He blamed himself then for her injury, and she wondered if he did so now as well.

Her eyes shifted to Draco. He was calm and steadily watching her, And a sense of peace settled in her. He was here, so it was going to be okay. She realized that didn’t make sense in a logical manner, but instinctively she knew it to be fact.

“How do you feel?” Draco murmured.

“Like I’ve been trampled by a Skrewt.”

“Do you remember what happened?”

“Where am I?”

“St. Mungo’s,” Harry intoned.

“Oh.” Her lips pressed together as she rummaged around in her thoughts. A flash of the ground rushing up to meet her followed by a sickening crack filled her mind and she cringed. “I must have fallen.”

“What else?” Draco asked.

Why had she been up high? She didn’t fly unless she absolutely couldn’t help it. She certainly didn’t like to climb trees or stray close to ledges. She chased after the thread, pushing through the terror of the memory to what happened before. Finally, something gave way and…  _ Oh _ . “There was a trap I got caught in. I followed a trail from the crime scene Justin and I were investigating and the next thing I knew, I was upside down. My wand was lying in the grass, and I couldn’t summon it. Colin tried to get to me, but something was keeping him out. I sent him away to get help. Justin was panicking when he couldn’t initially get me down. He must have finally found something that worked… Wait, where’s my wand?” Her heart began to pound.

One of the hands left her but for a moment, then the familiar handle of her wand pressed into her palm. She curled her fingers loosely around it and the wood warmed against her skin, as if waking up, and she calmed again before laying it across her lap. Draco’s hands enveloped hers again almost immediately.

“Do you remember anything after?”

She thought for a few moments before it came back to her in a haze. “I remember not being able to move. It was like I’d been Stupefied. The last thing I remember happening is something was coming. Justin kept looking at the woods while he was trying to find his Portkey. I heard something rustling… then we were here.”

The hands holding hers trembled before he clenched his jaw and stilled again.

Ah, so he wasn’t as collected as he let on.

“Draco. Where’s Justin?”

“Not quite sure.” He glanced to the corner of the room.

“Draco! What’d you do to him?”

“Let’s just say that there’s a reason he’s suspended for a month,” Harry chimed in.

Hermione’s mouth fell open, and she watched as Draco glared across the bed, fury dancing in his eyes.

“Fine,” he spat through his teeth. “When I found out he let you get hurt, I may have lost my temper and let loose some wandless magic by accident. It’s not like I stood over him, pointed my wand in his face, and Crucioed him. He’s being obliviated. Won’t remember a single thing after he was recalled to the department.”

“I was going to jest that you not murder him but now I feel the need to insist on it,” Hermione muttered.

“I thought he’d paralyzed you. Ruined your life as you knew it. There’s nothing that would’ve stopped me had you died while in his care.” Draco swallowed and looked away from her again, his fingers trembling momentarily once more.

“He’s not my keeper. I’m responsible for myself.” Her thumb stroked along his. 

Overwhelming awe encompassed her. Never had she had someone so ready to act with such severity on her behalf. She would be a hypocrite to chastise him, though. Hermione would Crucio into the floor anyone who hurt him, which didn’t make the slightest bit of sense seeing as their whole evolving relationship had only been going on for not even a year.

“Actually Justin  _ was _ responsible for you, regardless of if you realized it. Like it or not, you’re under the care and guard of your assigned Auror. It’s the main reason we escort investigators,” Harry said.

“I thought it was to do things like crowd control and preservation of the scene, or if a perpetrator reappeared.”

“That’s part of it, but the main thing is to keep Investigators safe. Didn’t Robards explain that?”

“No. He outlined my job after I accepted his offer and turned me over to my trainer.”

The two men looked at one another and were silent for a moment, coming to some sort of unspoken agreement that made Hermione want to squirm.

Perhaps a subject change was in order before they developed too many plans. “When do I get to go home?”

Draco’s attention returned to her. “A month.”

“Excuse me? I’m certain I didn’t hear you right. I thought you said a month.”

He simply looked at her, and her heart sank. How was it that magic wasn’t able to fix this as rapidly as most other things? What was she going to do for a whole month from this bed?

“They’ll let you stay with Draco soon, or you could always stay with Ginny and me then go to the Burrow during the day since both Molly and Fleur are always there,” Harry said.

“No, Potter. She’s not going to The Hovel. She’s coming home with me. I’m suspended for a month and I have not only the time but the help for tasks that’d be inappropriate for me to assist her with.”

“It’s the Burrow—” 

“I’m going home by myself! Surely there’s some way I can get myself discharged...” Her eyes narrowed in the direction of her covered feet. Harry and Draco ignored her statement to continue their bickering.

“I don’t care what you call it, Potter, she’s not going there.”

Right, because she was going home to her  _ own  _ house where she would stay on her own couch and catch up on her reading. And possibly some spell development. Maybe some charm work. She didn’t want to say it aloud, but she wasn’t entirely comfortable going to the Burrow after the attitude Molly had adapted towards her after Hermione suggested therapy for the family. She’d been kind enough the last time she’d been injured, but Molly had still possessed that edge she’d adopted during conversation after Hermione suggested therapy for the distraught family over a year ago.

“—besides, Robards is expecting her to come home with me. She won’t even be able to reach over her head for at least a week.”

Wait, what? 

“Excuse me?”

The two men were leaning towards each other across her bed from their seated positions, moments from springing up into each other's faces. At her interjection into the argument she’d stopped paying attention to, they both seemed to remember she was there and glanced over to her.

“Erm, what Malfoy meant was that Robards brought us here because he was summoned and we were both listed as your emergency contacts. When the Healer told us about your condition—”

“Which I still know nothing about aside that I can’t move my head because of this brace—” 

“—Malfoy volunteered to look after you, since he was suspended, unofficially, for a month.”

“I can speak for myself, Potter.” Draco’s lip curled in that familiar sneer, his grip on her tightening infinitesimally.

Before Hermione could interrupt them, the same elderly Healer that had put her under when she’d arrived came through the door.

“Finally awake I see.” His kind eyes and gentle demeanor had a funny way of putting her at ease. “You were lucky. Just a hair’s breadth further, and you’d be paralyzed from the neck down permanently. Magic can only mend so much, after all.” 

He explained the bones she broke and the damage inflicted on her spinal cord, and how if they’d taken any longer to get there, she may not have regained potentially full range of motion.

“Potentially full range of motion?”

“Oh yes, nothing is guaranteed. However, if you follow your discharge instructions to the letter, take your potions, and do the prescribed at-home exercises when it’s appropriate to do them, your likelihood of returning to normal is quite high. You’ll need help. Something as simple as a small fall could inflict enough damage to put you right back to where you were when you got here.” 

“Quite high” didn’t equate to a guarantee. She flexed her toes and thought about how she’d previously been unable to feel them, let alone move them. She had a strange longing for the hospital in France. Maybe she should go home with Draco after all. The thought of not being able to feel his hand in hers, on her waist, or being unable to have a normal meal with him made her heart thunder behind her breastbone. Being unable to be self-sufficient was equally terrifying. Would she even be able to practice magic at all if she was rendered a paraplegic? She’d never seen anyone disabled to that extent yet in the Wizarding World, and she was afraid to find out firsthand.

As if he was able to understand the extent of her newfound terror, Draco’s fingers stroked along her skin in a soothing pattern, inspiring her system to calm back down. He was here; it was going to be okay. She took a deep breath and looked over to see his brows furrowed; she wanted to pull her hand from his to smooth it. Perhaps she could shelve her stubbornness this one time.

“I have a letter to discharge you into the care of the Malfoy family doctor, if you’re amenable. Mister Malfoy has already agreed to be your caretaker during this delicate time of healing. All you need is to sign a few forms, and we’ll work on getting your prescription submitted to the apothecary and get your papers together for discharge into his care. Is this what you want?”

What she wanted was to go home, but it wouldn’t be the first time in her life that what she wanted juxtaposed with what she needed. Besides, staying with Draco meant she got to see him more than just at lunchtime every day and as he popped in and out of his office.

“Yes.”

While Draco didn’t give any visible indications, she could tell somehow he was both pleased and relieved she didn’t put up a fight. Harry, on the other hand, seemed resigned. Odd. She expected him to throw a fit after the way he’d been behaving before today. She’d have to do some digging because when Harry got stuck on something, he was like a dog with a bone.

“I’ll be right back then.”

It was silent in the room for all of a minute before Harry disrupted it.

“When you get back, you’ll be permanently paired.”

Fear trickled down the back of her neck like a cold sweat. “With whom?” 

She’d seen the Ministry do some blatantly stupid things before and dreaded to hear the answer. Harry would be tolerable because they had half a lifetime of trust established between them. If it was with Justin, she would quit. She didn’t know what was going on with the Hufflepuff as of late, but he’d been behaving strangely, bungling things that should have been so simple. If they didn’t have ways to actively detect the Imperious Curse now, she’d suspect that. She’d have to give it more thought later.

“With me,” Draco said. 

She relaxed into the bed as the dread drained from her limbs. She should be disappointed that it wasn’t with Harry but couldn’t find an ounce of it anywhere. Something else to ruminate on later.

Moments later the mediwitch bustled in with a stack of forms going over the injury she incurred, the procedures they performed, the medications that had been submitted to the apothecary along with the instructions for their use, and a note that the physician they were discharging her to would oversee any physical therapy needed. She touched each indicated line with her wand and watched as her signature slithered across the page in gold ink that faded to black.

As the mediwitch left to retrieve a wheelchair, Hermione noticed a bag at the foot of the bed. A wand twitch later had it in her grasp, and she finally pulled her hand from Draco’s to open it. Inside were her personal effects, including her handbag that she’d turned into a brooch for the day. Her uniform was neatly sliced into pieces where they’d had to remove it.

It made the situation that much more real, and she knew if she’d been alone she’d be having a meltdown. She’d save that for later while in the bath and behind the privacy of silencing charms.

“It’s going to be alright.” 

It was no surprise that Harry could see how distraught she was despite doing her best to cover it up.

She ignored him and pulled the bag out, enlarging it back to its normal size. She didn’t feel like struggling with much but knew she had a few simple dresses tucked away. Hermione unzipped the hidden compartment and summoned up a simple, light blue dress that fell to her calves. When the mediwitch returned, she shooed the two wizards from the room and helped Hermione change into the frock. Normally it would be too chilly to wear at this time of year when the leaves were giving up and falling to join their fellows on the ground, but they were only going to the Floo to leave.

She hadn’t realized how drugged she was until the nurse had helped her stand, then kept hold of her to keep Hermione from tipping over. Once seated in the chair, her companions were allowed to return. Before the mediwitch left them to go arrange her take-home medicines, she gave her three foul-tasting vials to drink, and Hermione felt herself immediately relax into the seat.

Draco stared for a moment at her sock covered feet before transfiguring his cufflinks into a pair of sleek, fur-lined slippers that he put on her feet before she could protest. He shucked his uniform coat and tucked it securely around her before taking the handles and sedately steering her towards the exit. They only stopped at the mediwitch’s station to collect the potions that would tide her over until they could get to the apothecary.

Harry walked along beside her, and she reached over and clasped his hand on a whim. For the first time since waking, a grin curled his mouth, and he shot her a quick wink. She wanted to peek back at Draco but knew the brace would hinder the motion too much. It was surreal to hear the two most important men in her life talking quietly despite their spat earlier. The trip was quiet, yet quick, but it confused her as they headed for the exit rather than the Floo. It must have shown on her face because Draco spoke up from behind her.

“Magical travel is off the table unless it’s life or death. Too much pressure from Portkey and Apparition, too much jostling from the Floo.”

Then how would they get there? She ruled out broom travel, but maybe they’d gotten a pass from the Ministry to use a flying carpet? Her brain ground to a halt once they got outside into the chilly autumn air and saw a car idling at the curb. She mechanically went along as they helped ease her into the back seat. Harry leaned across her to buckle her lap belt and took the opportunity to kiss her forehead. It felt as if he was transferring her from his care to Draco’s.

“Owl me when you get settled in, dove. Abide by your restrictions, and for once in your life, take it easy for a while. It’ll all be there when you get back.” Harry raised his eyebrows at her imploringly.

“I’ll do my best, Harry. I promise.”

He nodded, satisfied and knowing that was the only answer he would be getting.

The trunk shut and moments later Draco joined her in the car, buckling his own belt as if he’d done it a thousand times. He picked up her hand and they were off. She curled her fingers around his, absently noting the lack of her usual strength as she sedately watched traffic go by. 

Thoughts floated in and out of her mind like dandelion puffs on the breeze thanks to the drugs, and she barely noted the time slipping by until the city ran out and they were heading out into the countryside. Her eyes drifted to his, and her lips curled up at the corners as she squeezed his fingers gently. He brushed the ring on her finger with a featherlight caress and though she was sure it would mortify her later, she gave a contented sigh.

Soon, thoughts and time became hard to keep hold of, and she passed the time having small staring contests with him when he caught her examining the planes of his face and spent the rest of the time watching the countryside zoom by.

It could have been thirty minutes or three hours for all she knew before they turned down a long, winding cobblestone driveway that took them through a forest, granting the estate its privacy. It felt like forever before they broke through the treeline and finally, she laid eyes on Draco’s home. It was a massive, sand-colored, stone manor house. She speculated it would have looked castle-like had it been gray. 

She was belatedly curious about the driveway, but before she could ask, his fingers had already slid from hers and he was getting out of the car. The trunk opened, and in the quiet she could hear him unfolding the wheelchair. Her fingers fumbled with the seatbelt buckle until it finally gave, popping free and zooming across her waist to fall back into its home before she could grasp the belt.

She didn’t know why he was messing with the chair. If nothing else, he could have just levitated her inside. Her thoughts halted as he opened her door and the soothing scent of him rushed in on the breeze. With one hand on her waist and the other grasping hers, he guided her gently into the chair again. He took a moment to lean inside the front passenger window, likely to slip the driver a tip before she realized she’d never even gotten a look at the person. Itnever even crossed her mind to see who had been driving them. As they watched the car pull away, she supposed it didn’t really matter.

Draco took up his post at the handles again and began rolling her past lush foliage and flowers along a stone path that took them around the massive house to an expansive back patio where there were open doors awaiting them. They went through a large conservatory that contained an array of vegetables and herbs into a gorgeous kitchen full of Muggle appliances. She idly wondered if he even knew how to work any of them or was even able to make a grilled cheese.

The idea of the simple sandwich made her realize that she was starving. She wondered what they would be doing for lunches now that she couldn’t cook for a while and they couldn’t travel to Diagon Alley at the drop of a hat. She didn’t have to wonder long as they entered a cozy breakfast area with a small round table with one chair missing. There were two place settings covered with dome lids. Once he got her settled in her place, he took the seat to her right.

They spread their napkins in their laps before he withdrew her wand and laid it next to her silverware. She stared at the thin strip of wood as he vanished the coverings, having forgotten that he’d had it. The smell caught her attention, and she sucked in a breath as she saw what had lay underneath. Tomato soup and grilled cheese were on the menu for lunch today.

Tears welled in her eyes, and she noticed Draco looking mildly alarmed until she snagged his hand and squeezed it as much as she was able. 

“Thank you.”

She supposed she now had one of the answers as to what they’d been talking about while she’d been under. Her mum had always made this for her when she felt unwell and despite the twinge of sadness at the reminder that her mum was no longer around to take care of her, the warmth that flared at his thoughtfulness overpowered the rest.

Lunch was largely quiet as always. She wondered who’d made the soup and sandwiches. It obviously wasn’t Draco since he’d been with her from when they’d alerted him and Harry that she was in St. Mungo’s, so it was probably some house-elves. He’d have to have them or some hired help to keep a home this size running in proper order.

After they were finished, he took her back the way they came and out onto a veranda overlooking the back garden. He parked her next to a set of thickly padded patio chairs and settled into one next to her.

“Draco?”

He tensed as his eyes drifted over to her. She wondered what he was anticipating. Maybe an endless series of questions over who kept his house and likely hostility if he confirmed that he did have house-elves.

“How long do I have to be in this?” She tapped the arm of the chair.

From her experience of moving from the bed to the chair back at the hospital, walking wasn’t going to be a safe activity and falling would be disastrous. The thought of one little mishap rendering her unable to move had her fingers clenching the skirting of her dress. She bet he expected her to fight him on using the chair. Her tenacity for being independent was legendary.

He licked his lips. “Until you’re off the strongest set of potions. Probably a week to a week and a half.”

That seemed like an overly long time. Harry regrew an entire arm of bones overnight in their Second Year. “I thought broken bones only took a couple of days to come back right.” 

“Normally they do, but it wasn’t just your bones that were damaged. Your spinal cord was also affected, which was why you were paralyzed after the fall. Even with the delicate process of regrowing the bones in your neck, your muscles are still damaged and weak. It may seem like overkill, but the risk is too great to do otherwise. Even the smallest thing could mean permanent damage. The sort that would mean you would never get out of that chair again on your own.” He paused to close his eyes, take a deep breath, then let it out slowly. His eyes had darkened when he looked at her again and she could only imagine the thoughts running through his head.

She would never have dreamed Draco Malfoy would ever be this distraught over her for any reason.

Suddenly she was even more grateful that she was being permanently partnered with Draco. As much as she liked Justin, she’d never be able to trust him again in a working environment. Draco would make her stop when necessary, he would watch over her despite any annoyance it may incur in the moment.

He looked back over the expansive lawn as his fist clenched atop his thigh. She knew his building anger wasn’t directed at her, but she hated to see him this upset. The potions lowered her inhibitions, she noticed, as she moved her hand over to slither it underneath his fist. He took another breath and opened his hand over hers, lacing their fingers together to complete the coupling. Normally she wouldn’t be so forward to invade his space, but maybe it was finally an appropriate time to do so. Maybe they were even ready to move on to something beyond the delicate grasp of hands, touches on the arm or waist, or the way he led her with his warm palm pressed against the small of her back.

She covertly watched as his eyes took in where her palm was resting, and if she didn’t know better, she’d say he was pleased.

“What were you thinking about?” she murmured.

The sense of him being pleased faded and simmering anger reappeared once again.

“The events that led up to you being in St. Mungo’s with a badly broken neck and nearly dead,” he said. 

He crossed his legs at the knee and transferred her hand to his other so hers was sandwiched in his once again. He shifted his weight towards her as he rested his elbow on the chair arm between them and, he studied her as he decided on his next question.

“Did you really think we were going to let you go home by yourself?” he finally asked.

Hermione shrugged. “I’ve taken care of everyone else for so long, it’s what I default to. What I expected was some protesting, then finally some help home after I didn’t give in because that’s how it’s always been. Molly would have sent over food, and I would have had visitors to check on me, but I would largely have been left to my own devices.”

It suddenly occurred to her that she hadn’t even thought about parsing or bending the truth even to stem his anger, and she couldn’t help but wonder why that was. It wasn’t in her nature to lie if it wasn’t an extreme circumstance, but she wasn’t always so forthcoming either. A polite, downplayed version of the situation was more her style.

She met his eyes, and it was obvious he was displeased even though he’d yet to utter a single word.

“Those days are gone,” he declared in a low voice. “You’re worth more than that. You should be taken care of. Looked after. Cherished.”

She could tell he was mildly uncomfortable with his utterances, but he didn’t seem to be about to take them back, nor would she ask him to. That would be the equivalent of brushing off how he felt about her. Maybe he felt that saying such things was going too fast for her. It wasn’t. She brought their hands to her mouth where she kissed across his knuckles and nuzzled her cheek against them before placing them back in his lap.

“I have one request.”

A blond eyebrow rose. “What’s that?”

“You can’t go around threatening or cursing people over me.”

“It’s not a threat if I’m detailing what I’ll do to them if they hurt you or allow you to be harmed, darling.”

“Promise me, Draco, that you will maintain your temper. You don’t need to get fired, or worse, imprisoned over losing your temper on my behalf. You can’t protect me from Azkaban.”

“Cheating,” he whispered as his fingers disentangled from hers to stroke along each digit.

Perhaps she was, but she’d do what she had to to keep him safe as well. 

The silence stretched on until he finally sighed. “Fine, I promise not to intentionally harm anyone or do anything that will risk my liberty. Happy?”

“Very. Thank you.” She gave him a warm smile, and he grunted and went back to watching as he traced his fingertips along her skin.

They sat outside until it was time for more potions and tea. He sat a line of vials in front of her while he prepared her drink and a small plate of snacks he knew she liked. She downed each of them like a good patient and chased the bitterness away with a long sip of tea as soon as he gave her the cup. 

Her ability to think and focus that had come back over the course of the afternoon was now slipping through her fingers like water. Draco kept her entertained, telling her about his mother’s recent adventures now that she’d convinced Andromeda to go on trips with her, to get out of England and see the world. He was careful not to say anything too funny, knowing that it would jostle her and be painful.

He stayed glued to her for the rest of the day until after dinner when he finally took her to her rooms that were across the hall from his own.

There he introduced her to his two house-elves, Bumble and Bee. While Hermione had never stopped desiring the freedom of all magical beings, she’d realized it was a more complex situation than she’d originally understood and perhaps her starting methodology wasn’t the best course of action. She realized that it needed to be something they chose; otherwise, it was just another thing being forced on them. She’d long been corresponding with the Head of the Department of Magical Creatures on some simple legislation that made it to where a house-elf was no longer forcibly bound to a family or an owner but had the ability to choose who they served. If nothing else, it gave an out to house-elves tied to abusive families.

The two small elves were dressed in clean butter-yellow togas fashioned from expensive looking tea towels with a black “M” embroidered in script in the corners. They both seemed sane, unlike Kreacher who still lived with Harry and Ginny and who still muttered to himself, often in third person. They seemed healthy and happy, unlike Dobby who’d so obviously been abused by Lucius. She smiled kindly at them as Draco explained they would be helping her with things he couldn’t like changing clothes and showering.

“I’ll let you get settled in.” He kissed her forehead and closed the door behind himself as he left.

“Would Miss like a shower?” Bee squeaked.

“Yes, please.” A shower would be amazing. She’d been magically cleaned after she’d been worked on by the medical staff at St. Mungo’s but it didn’t feel the same as actual bathing.

They’d spent most of the afternoon outside and the smell of the outdoors had soaked into her dress and hair, but every now and then she’d get a whiff of St. Mungo’s. She hadn’t asked, but she had a feeling Draco had used influence or galleons or both to get her released into the care of the family doctor.

She’d stared at the bathtub longingly as they rolled her past it, and she couldn’t wait until she was able to take a long, hot bath again. The shower was taken from a chair in an enormous shower stall in her ensuite. Despite the discomfort of having two elves helping her disrobe, move her to the chair, and wash her hair for her, it was worth it to feel properly scrubbed.

Afterwards, Bee braided her hair into a long, simple plait after they helped dress her into a sleeveless, thick cotton nightgown that fell to her knees. It was cream with a playful pink ruffle sewn to the bottom and comfortably roomy. They’d also tucked her into a matching pink and cream robe and slipped thickly padded matching slippers on her feet. It was absurdly warm and comfortable. They put every single pair of pajamas she had to shame. Absently, she hoped Draco had gotten his cufflinks back despite how enjoyable the previous pair of slippers had been.

She’d wanted to protest, wanted to send the elves to her home and collect pajamas she already owned. She wanted to tell Draco that he shouldn’t needlessly spend money on her. That protest had died on her lips, however, when he came back for her and just stared at her. He looked so pleased to see her as comfortable as possible and cared for that she couldn’t bring herself to say the first word against it. It was just pajamas, after all, not a new broomstick.

She noticed he was in his own set of green loungewear and did some staring of her own. She’d never seen him in anything so informal; he always dressed impeccably and even now he was in thick, sumptuous cotton, much like what she was wearing. It felt so domestic and natural for them to be there together at the end of the day.

“Nightcap?” 

“Yes, please.” She doubted that she’d be drinking anything alcoholic, but something to essentially wrap up the day was just the ticket for her still slightly unsettled mind.

He took up his previous post behind her and rolled her back to the living room where he helped settle her on the end of a plush sofa before sitting beside her. Bumble and Bee brought them hot cocoa and chocolate-filled croissants along with her next round of potions.

Her thoughts became hard to hold onto again, and she was unable to focus on the book Draco had waiting on her after they finished their snack. To add to the problem, there were only so many positions she could read in before she was sore and aching. Draco had taken such good care of her that she hated to say anything, not wanting to seem ungrateful. There was nothing to do for it besides levitate it or have him read to her, and with the state of her intoxicated mind, she was afraid to cast even simple spells. Besides, it had been such a long day, and it was getting hard to hold her eyes open.

“Ready for bed?” His eyes ran across her form, searching for anything wrong or out of place.

“That would be lovely.”

He sat her book to the side and helped her back into her chair. When they got back to her room, he helped her settle onto the mountain of outrageously comfortable pillows on the equally comfortable bed before tucking her in and summoning the book.

“You didn’t get to read much of your book; would you like me to read it to you? I know it can be difficult to sleep in an unfamiliar environment.”

Had she accidentally said something about that aloud? She blinked at him, trying to recount if her mouth had moved recently without her permission.

“Or, I can just let you get some sleep. You’ve had an exceptionally long day.” He made to move towards the door when she reached a hand out and snagged his wrist.

“No, stay. Please. If you don’t mind, that is.” Her cheeks burned as she babbled.

“I don’t.” He magicked the same chair into existence that he’d slept in next to her bedside and sat down.

Before he opened the book, however, he fished a delicate-looking bracelet from his shirt pocket and fastened it around her wrist. She brought it up to eye level to examine it. It looked antique and expensive.

“If you need me, just squeeze the serpent charm. If you’d prefer a house-elf, squeeze the bumblebee charm,” he explained.

That was far better than a bell, and it rendered her unable to protest. Hopefully, it was a family piece rather than a new piece. Before she could ask, he’d opened the book and begun to read to her. She desperately tried to stay awake to enjoy the sound of his voice, but all too soon she found herself in dreamland. 

Every couple of hours the drug-induced dreams would morph to her being suspended upside down in the air and falling which always startled her awake. Each time she woke, he was there, gently guiding her back into a resting position and lulling her back to sleep. When morning came, she wasn’t sure if it was real or an enormously long, looping, convoluted dream. Her answer came in the form of the man still sitting in the chair with the book spread across his chest, sound asleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> See you all next Saturday! <3


	18. Chapter 18

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Today we raise our wands in remembrance of the Fallen Fifty on the anniversary of the Battle of Hogwarts. /*
> 
> Huge thanks to my Alpha/Betas NuclearNik and Monica03, without them I would be a mess and this story would be a disaster. Also a huge thanks to my Omegas (pre-readers) MarshmallowMcGonagall, QuinTalon, and Weestarmeggie!
> 
> To everyone who reads, subscribes, bookmarks, comments/reviews, follows, reblogs, likes, etc: I appreciate you all SO VERY MUCH. With the length of my chapters and the editing process, it leaves little time to come back and interact (I'll still try, however!). I promise though, all of it makes me go starry eyed and flail about every single time.
> 
> Disclaimer: I own nothing.

Time passed strangely. Some days flew by, while others moved at a crawl. The first week felt like an eternity with Hermione’s lack of mobility. At times she itched to hop up out of the chair to do something as simple as taking a shower by herself but knew she was likely to fall on her face as soon as she took her first step thanks to the potions coursing through her.

She practiced magic when she could, sometimes taking control of the chair and wheeling herself around the house to explore in order to give Draco and the elves a small break. It was never long before one of them came looking for her to make sure she was all right. 

It had been with great disappointment that she discovered his library was on the upper floors. She’d eyed the stairs with interest and wondered if her magic would be able to hold out long enough to get her to the top of the first flight. With all the energy her body used to heal, she often felt fatigued after doing a moderate amount of spellwork. As if he were able to read her mind, Draco showed up moments afterwards with the excuse that she had visitors about to arrive, quickly wheeling her back to the sitting room where Harry and Ginny turned up for tea a short while later. When she made her way back there again there was a faint, glowing line drawn across the entirety of the wide bottom step. Curiosity made her stick her hand across it. When nothing happened, Hermione pulled out her wand, but before she could attempt anything, Bumble popped into existence to ask if there was anything he could do for her. 

After that Draco did his best to keep her entertained and away from the temptation of getting upstairs. He magically made her chair taller so she’d be able to comfortably help him transplant seedlings from trays to larger pots at the bench in the smaller rooms off of the conservatory. Mornings were often spent there nurturing plants or experimenting with cross-breeding different species. They spent afternoons strolling along the lined walkways near the extensive apple orchard in the brisk autumn air. Draco’s magic warmed her so she could stick to soft, comfortable cotton frocks or matching linen outfits with a cardigan layered on top. 

Their first time out Hermione learned why the property had been named Appledale after seeing rows upon rows upon rows of apple trees that went up and over the large hill. He told her of how hundreds of bushels went to Hogwarts, but otherwise, they went to market. Sometimes their walks were quiet but others he spent telling her stories from his childhood, like how sometimes his father would sneak a puppy from one of the latest litters into his room to play with after he’d gotten in trouble with his mother or governess. Afterward, it was as if she could feel his loss, anger and regret radiating off of him as he changed topics and hurriedly went on to some other misadventure he and Adrian, Theo, or Blaise got into as children.

She came to the conclusion that he had a complicated relationship with his father that he was still working on resolving and likely had been ever since Lucius died. Merlin knew there were days she still struggled over the situation with her own parents, so she didn’t press him or ask questions after it was clear he was done with the subject despite being full to bursting with them. 

After a week, Phineas Fawley made an appearance to examine her. He reminded her of Madam Hooch with his yellow, hawk-like eyes and short silver hair. His face was angular, with a curved nose and a neatly kept mustache that curled at each end. He was soft-spoken, yet had a strict, no-nonsense air about him. He introduced himself, then had her explain what had happened to bring her to the current situation. As she talked, he twirled his wand expertly and brought up a plethora of diagnostic information with charm after charm as she sat sedately in the chair with Draco right behind her. Fawley paid Draco’s hovering no mind and went along his exam as if he weren’t there.

Hermione heard the handles squeak in Draco’s grip when Fawley took her hands to test her range of motion. She desperately wanted to turn her head to see his expression or pull her hand from Fawley’s and place it upon his, but she forced herself to remain relaxed and let the Healer lead her through the experiment. He took the resistance she gave when she reached the extent of her range of motion as the indicator of her limits and didn’t try to push her past them. He seemed to understand Draco’s patience would snap should he inflict discomfort upon her.

Finally, Fawley asked her some questions about how she’d been sleeping, if her eating habits had changed, and how she was handling her potions. He gave her a list of exercises to do twice a day, demonstrating each one and giving alternatives should she find the original to be too painful. To her delight, he told her that she could take the brace off until she felt discomfort. Her other allowance was that she could get out of the chair and walk short distances since her potion potency was about to be reduced, but stairs were still out of the question along with magical travel. As he was getting his notes in order, he mentioned that outside of her exercises she was not to lift her arms above shoulder level nor turn her head quickly.

It took all of her existing willpower not to scowl. She felt the tip of a finger begin to trail back and forth across the back of her left shoulder, and a bit of the frustration bled away. She wondered— not for the first time during bouts of anger at the situation— if she would be able to get away with some sort of unpleasant spells when they caught their killer as retribution for what the person was putting her through. Not the Cruciatus, but maybe boils to the nethers for a month or something similar and equally awful.

They thanked him for stopping by, and Bumble showed him to the traveling room. Hermione reached up and tugged the straps open on the neck brace, pulling it off as gently as she could, lest she anger the still healing muscles. It was almost time for her potions again, so she was fairly clear-headed and didn’t feel like she’d downed a bottle of Ogden’s Finest. She gave an experimental turn of her head to sort her limits before standing from the chair and turning towards Draco.

He gripped the handle with one hand and reached toward her with the other. For the past week, every time she’d stood, he’d had a hold of her arm in case she even so much as wobbled. He began to pull his hand back when she caught it in her fingers, twining them together as she stepped carefully around the chair until she was in his space. 

Over the past week, he'd kissed her forehead, cheeks, fingers, and had given her small pecks on the mouth, but she desperately missed his regular kisses. The ones that more often than not had her running her fingers up into his hair or slipping her arms around his waist and pressing herself against him. She wanted one, and she wanted it now.

Hermione stepped close to him until they were almost chest to chest. She tilted her head back experimentally and found she had just enough range to look up into his eyes without pain. All week he'd treated her as if she was spun glass, and she hadn't once objected. She ran her free hand over his chest and around to the back of his neck where she gently pulled him down until their lips met in a tentative kiss. His hand drifted to her waist and around to rest on the curve of her spine as he gently pulled her against him.

For a moment she felt completely normal, as if the accident had never happened and the last week had been an absurd but awful dream. Then his hand moved to her waist, gave it a gentle squeeze and he moved back from her.

"Perhaps we should move this to the sofa. I don't like the way your head's tilted back so far after taking off that brace. It's more than you've moved it in over a week so it might be prudent to start slower with your range of motion."

While she didn't like not being able to stand and kiss him, she wasn’t going to argue against sitting with him in a more intimate way.

He gently spun her around, keeping one hand on her waist and guiding her over to sit down, still helping her as she eased down on the cushions. He sat close enough that their knees were brushing. When he leaned into her space and gently gripped her jaw, she didn't have to tilt her head back to meet him at all. This kiss was less gentle than it was moments before, and it was obvious that there was a hunger there that spoke of how he'd missed kissing her just as much as she missed receiving them from him.

His hand moved to rest on the side of her neck as if he were afraid to slip it around to cup the back of her head. His thumb stroked the space just under her ear, and she decided to let him go with his own level of comfort when it came to touching her in her damaged state. Now, the next item on her agenda was to convince him to put his mouth there again as soon as possible.

Her own hands had not remained idle and instead of cupping his face, they rested on his shoulders where her fingertips lazily drew random patterns before they slid down his chest to grasp either side of his trim waist.

He sucked in a breath through his nose and pressed his mouth more firmly against her own. Parting her lips just enough, she traced the seam of his mouth with the tip of her tongue. Apparently it was either all the invitation he needed or he simply lost the battle against his will power because suddenly his warm tongue dipped into her mouth and began to caress and stroke her own, hesitantly at first, then with more confidence as she returned his advances and he became more certain in his actions.

She knew right away it was something she’d never get enough of. It was exquisite and intimate in a way they'd yet to be, and suddenly her designation in his life came rumbling back to the forefront of her mind. Her heart thrilled at the thought of physicalities yet to come. Perhaps when she was a little bit better, and he wasn't so afraid to be physical with her, she could perhaps coax him into something more. The thought of his warm, heavy frame on top of her as they kissed, explored, experimented... It was something she suddenly wanted desperately. She’d thought about doing much more with him, of course, but it was best to take it one step at a time and remember that he likely operated under a much different set of rules than what she was used to; she would respect that in the same way he had respected her.

Gradually the kiss became less intense and evolved into something gentler, sweeter, and then it ended with several tender pecks. Finally, he pressed his forehead to hers. “I’ve wanted to do that all week,” he murmured. He was close enough still that when he spoke his lips partially brushed against her own. 

He continued to push her in the chair when they went on their walks that week. She was satisfied with getting to turn her head more but couldn’t wait until she could walk on her own next to him again. She missed the feel of his hand intertwined with hers or on her waist, and the limited freedom she had made her itch for more. It was nice being able to walk to the kitchen or to her bedroom on her own, but now she wanted to be able to do things like a regular person again. Things like going up a simple set of stairs in search of a certain Malfoy library.

The second week passed by quickly, but unlike the first, she didn’t live in a near-constant haze. With her potion potency reduced she slept less and was able to hold more substantive conversations with her companion. She could walk around the greenhouses and water the plants as well as do basic weeding with her wand, and much to Draco’s surprise, she was able to charm the house-elves into allowing her to help with dinner. While they didn’t allow her to lift anything, she was able to do the ingredient prep and stir things at the stove as long as she was agreeable to taking several breaks to sit down.

In the evenings after dinner, they sat together in the sitting room either listening to records, the wireless, or reading together. She was still unable to tilt her head down for long periods of time without experiencing discomfort, so Draco kept up the tradition of reading to her until she fell asleep. He hadn’t fallen asleep in her room again since that first night, but he was somehow always there when she inevitably had a terrifying falling dream that woke her right as she hit the ground. She never remembered much, only that he coaxed her back into a lying position in the dim light from the end of his wand and back into slumber, but she speculated that one of the house-elves was keeping tabs on her just in case she needed something.

The week had also been filled with delicious kisses. He trapped her at the workbench in the greenhouse and cupped her face, drinking her in before leaning down to her level to taste her. He would stop them in the middle of their walk and bend over to capture her lips with little warning, and sometimes they would be sitting together on the couch and it would be as if he couldn’t stand it anymore and he had to either kiss her or die. And always, _always_ , he kissed her forehead when she was drifting off and hovering in that place just between sleep and awake.

Fawley came again precisely one week later and performed an exam similar to the first time. He largely ignored Draco again except to ask him some questions. For the most part, Draco behaved just as he had the first time. He stayed seated in his chair, his legs crossed at the knee and hands folded in his lap, but Hermione could detect the tension in him when Fawley took her hands to test her range of motion. It had expanded further than last time, and he waved his wand, casting some spells she’d never heard that slithered into her skin, deep into her muscles. It felt icky, almost slimy, but once it settled in, the magic turned warm and it felt as if she’d had a diluted strengthening solution injected straight into the weakened muscles.

Much like last time, Fawley didn't push her beyond the limits of her comfort level. He seemed to know that if Hermione exhibited pain it would spur Draco to action just the same as before.

Much to her delight, Fawley encouraged more walking, more exercise, and she was now allowed to lift her arms over her head and bend over to an extent as long as it didn't cause pain, which meant she could wash her own hair and shower by herself. The news that she still was not allowed to traverse stairs was frustrating but perhaps she could try to bend that rule towards the end of the week. He gave her a new set of exercises to work on as he recorded her progress in his notes.

Draco seemed to relax when Bumble once again showed Fawley back to the traveling room. Hermione spun in place, the skirt of her flouncy frock flaring out and then resettling around her calves. He was sitting there watching her, having already dismissed the physician. Draco seemed curious as to if she would approach him again in the name of celebration of another milestone reached.

Not one to disappoint, she strolled over to him, placed her hands on the arms of the chair, and leaned over into his personal space stopping just shy of his lips. He watched her with gleaming eyes as she ran her tongue along her bottom lip and in doing so barely grazed his mouth. 

In an instant his hands were gripping her hips and guiding her into his lap. One hand held her flush to him as he claimed her lips and plundered her mouth. She whined low in her throat and rolled her hips against him, feeling him hard beneath her as she suckled on his tongue. His grip on her tightened, forcing her to hold still, but she could feel the tension in his body as he kept himself from reciprocating.

Moments later, he broke the kiss and pressed their foreheads together, breathing heavily.

"We can't, Hermione. Not right now, not while you're still healing and delicate. I could hurt you so easily if I got just the slightest bit carried away."

Disappointment surely must have shown on her face, but she acquiesced. If he didn't want to, she wouldn't push him, but now she was going to require a shower to take care of the problem he'd created. When she went to get up, however, he’d yet to release her from his grip.

"Where are you going?"

"Oh, I didn't want to cause you more discomfort so I thought I’d take a shower now that I'm free to wash my own hair again."

He seemed to know what she was planning on doing. His thumb began to stroke her hip as he studied her mouth and worked out what he wanted to say.

"If you want to finish what we were starting, we'll have to go by a set of rules. Do you agree to this?"

"What sort of rules?"

"Mostly that you'll keep your head still, you'll let me take care of you, and you’ll not worry about me."

"But—"

"No buts. We can worry about me later. All I care about right now is taking care of you."

She bit her lip as she watched him study her. It didn't seem fair that only one of them was going to get off. 

He seemed to be able to detect her wavering stance the longer he let her think, so he leaned in and pressed his mouth to hers again, nipping her bottom lip.

"Please, let me take care of you," he murmured against her lips.

She would’ve ground her hips against his again if his hand didn't have such an ironclad hold on her.

Hermione couldn't bring herself to speak and merely nodded. His hand slid up to her waist to guide her until she was leaning back against his chest with her head on his shoulder, her thighs spread and calves dangling along the outside of his. He dragged his fingertips down her thighs and grasped the fabric in each fist, slowly dragging it upwards until her skirting was bunched around her hips.

His head dipped down to taste her neck, and she sighed as he explored the tender flesh with his mouth. Draco’s hands drug slowly across her hip bones, up her stomach, and across her ribs to finally rest on her breasts, and he kneaded them, pinching her nipples through the fabric of her bra and causing her to keen and shift her hips against his hardness. She squeezed her eyes closed and concentrated, smirking in triumph at the feel of the fabric disappearing moments later. Her nipples hardened further when his palms came in closer contact.

“Did you just—” He cut himself off, able to plainly see that she’d wandlessly, wordlessly vanished her bra, and he gave a low, breathy chuckle. “So impatient.”

His left hand drifted down as his right alternated between her left and right breast, tweaking her nipples, making her hiss and groan. She wanted to rub herself against him again, invite temptation, but she knew that if she pushed his rules any more he was likely to stop. If he did that she would either scream in frustration or else combust entirely. She'd wanted this for far too long now to risk it. He took time to explore her thighs, watching as he mouthed at her neck and earlobe, drawing small whimpers from her mouth. 

Finally, he slipped a hand up under her dress, running his fingertips along the band of her knickers before letting them drift beneath the soft fabric. He took his time exploring her there too, tracing her folds and teasing her lips. She ground her teeth together, and it was all she could do to be still when his fingers finally brushed across her clit. He caressed her slit, collecting the moisture that had gathered and returning to the sensitive nub where he experimented with speed, pressure, and patterns. It didn’t take him long to figure out exactly how to touch her to make her come undone. 

Her breathy moans filled the room as he worked her in tight circles while his other hand pinched her nipple tightly, then rolled it between his finger and thumb, as his teeth grazed her earlobe. 

“I’ve thought about this for weeks.” Her heart hammered at his admission, desperately curious as to what he thought about when he thought of them like this. “I’ve fantasized, more than once, of us being just like this at my desk, your knickers in my pocket and your skirt up around your hips.”

She was so close, _so_ close, and she let out a desperate groan. She could envision it, being spread across him as he sat in his office chair and stroked her bare pussy as she ground her hips down against him over and over.

It was all she could do to remain still. As if rewarding her for her restraint, he pressed down the slightest bit harder and then she was teetering on the cusp.

“Hermione,” he whispered.

She tipped her head over on his shoulder and looked at him through a haze of pleasure to see his lips parted slightly, breathing heavily as he stared reverently, watching as he brought her closer and closer to bliss. Their eyes locked on to one another and suddenly she was flying, crying out as the wave crested and crashed down over her with all the force of a tsunami.

He worked her through her orgasm, gradually letting up and sliding his hand from her underwear, pulling her skirt back down to drape across her lap. They were still staring at one another and it somehow felt more intimate than how he'd just been touching her, as if there was something forged between them now that they’d been building up to over the weeks and months it’d taken them to get here. It felt incomplete like it was still a work in progress, but she felt more attached, more intrinsically tied as if each step they took further bound them in a permanent sort of way. 

His hands settled on her waist to rub languid circles there as she rested against him, boneless and euphoric. 

“Thank you,” she finally whispered, her cheeks heating.

“My pleasure.”

She could tell that he wanted her to tilt her head towards him, and when she did, he claimed her lips, kissing her unhurriedly, reverently, over and over until he shifted under her.

She began to plan then, as she moved to settle sideways in his lap with her legs over the chair arm. She tucked her arm around him and settled her head comfortably against his shoulder where he held her as tightly as he dared. She felt treasured, cherished as she lay there, tucked against him. She tilted her head and listened to his heart gradually go from pounding down to a normal, steady rhythm. 

After a short nap in his arms, the rest of the day passed normally. They took a shorter walk than usual after Hermione insisted they leave the chair on the back porch where she’d banished it a few days prior. She was a bit tired after they got back but insisted on helping the elves again with dinner as Draco excused himself to his office to look over the ledger. She suspected the ledger wasn’t the only thing he was looking over but said nothing, merely pulled him down for a kiss before meandering into the kitchen where she disrupted the elves' dessert plans. 

The week passed by with walks, stolen kisses, make-out sessions in Draco’s chair, and dabbling in the potions lab together as he showed her how he tested soil samples from the vineyards, as well as making a batch of the altered sleeping draught together. She explored the ground level more in depth now that she was mostly weaned off her pain potions and could steadily walk again without Draco hovering nearby, waiting for her to tip over.

It was on a Thursday morning that she’d begun eying the staircase again. The line was gone, and she felt no magical signatures emanating from the area. Surely she could sneak upstairs and then back down before she was really missed... Just to sate her curiosity. She hoped the library was on the second floor rather than the third. She’d been tempted to ask Draco or the elves but that was bound to make them suspicious. 

She’d crept up three steps before the sharp click of boots sounded on the hardwood floor as Draco hurried in her direction, and she didn’t even bother to scurry back down because he’d already seen her. He must have placed a totem or some other artefact nearby that she was unable to detect.

She turned to face him, folding her arms beneath her breasts. His gray eyes were tempestuous as he looked from her to the stairs and back, an eyebrow raised as he mirrored her pose.

“I was under the impression that you were to stay off the stairs.”

“I don’t see why I can’t go up the stairs. I feel better than I have since this whole thing happened.”

“Need I remind you that you’re still at risk for permanent damage?”

“But—”

“Permanent. I know somewhere in that gigantic brain of yours you remember what that word means.”

“Well yes—”

“And I’m sure you remember what it was like not being able to move the day this all started.”

Her fists clenched. Of course, she did. It was something she’d never forget. Hermione looked down and her eyes glazed over with tears of frustration. It was just a staircase. She was entirely capable. She survived a war. Surely to Merlin, she could climb a set of stairs. She watched as pointy black dragonhide shoes moved up the two steps until he was directly in front of her. His hands came up to curl around her biceps, stroking her bare arms with his thumbs.

“It’s not that I don’t think you capable, I do. I’m just...” he said as he took a deep breath and let it out slowly through his nose, “ _afraid_ for you that your streak of bad luck will continue to hold and you’ll fall. I don’t think you understand how much it would wreck me to see your potential be snatched from you. Even falling forward can ruin the still delicate and mending repairs. I swear to you that as soon as Fawley says stairs are allowable again, we’ll go straight to the library and stay there for as long as you want. You’ve had a bad month. You’ve almost died twice. Please, let’s not make it three for three.” His hands dropped away and he backed down the steps, holding out a hand to her. “Come, let’s go have tea. Bee made those lemon and lavender cookies you liked so well again.”

She finally lifted her head to find him looking at her hopefully. Draco wasn’t _telling_ her she couldn’t go, he was _asking_ her not to because he was concerned. She sighed. What were a couple more days? It would cost her nothing but a bit of patience and hope that Fawley would give her permission for stairs on his next visit to give Draco some peace of mind that she wouldn’t try sneaking up them again.

Slowly, Hermione extended a hand and placed it in his, descending until she was on the bottom step when he stopped her. There she was nearly as tall as he was, and he took the opportunity to lean forward and kiss her, likely in thanks for not fighting him on this one thing. Afterward, she descended and accompanied him to tea just as he requested.

On Fawley’s next visit, he granted her permission to use stairs again carefully but banned her from ladder usage. That edict confused her until they finally reached the library on the second floor; they’d gone straight up there as soon as Bumble began to lead the physician away to the traveling room. The library took up two floors and had bookcases that went all the way to the top on three of the walls with the exception of the top three feet. The singular wall that held no bookcases, as well as the top three feet of the ones that did, were filled with windows. The only way to access the upper portions of the bookcases was via massive rolling ladders that were attached to the top of each set of cases. Three-quarters of the room was filled with towering stand-alone bookcases that were as equally tall as their fellows lining the walls. The remainder of the room was comprised of two massive tables that sat end-to-end to make up one large workspace, which sat behind an ensemble of two overfilled armchairs and matching couches that formed a square seating arrangement in front of an enormous fireplace. 

It was easy to envision reading here every evening until she fell asleep when Draco interrupted her. “You still have to sleep in your bed. These couches may be comfortable for reading, but they’re certainly not fit for sleeping.”

“Are you a wizard or not?”

He rolled his eyes at her, took a seat at the end, then snorted as she finally took off to go take a look around. A _whoosh_ let her know that he’d flamboyantly lit a fire, probably to remind her that he was perfectly capable of magic, the smart arse.

She wandered the aisles, floating tomes that caught her fancy back to the tables, starting a collection that would last her the week. When she was satisfied that she had a decent enough head start, she returned to him, snagging a book off the top of a pile as she went by. 

She took her seat to find him already reading, and flipped her own book open. The afternoon passed with them each engrossed in their own subject matter. Slowly but surely they worked their way closer to one another until she was pressed against his side, his arm languidly around her shoulders.

He finally threw his book down and plucked hers from her fingers, declaring it was time for them to get some air. He extinguished the flames of the wave of his wand and laughed when she suggested that they just open the windows.

Since he couldn't physically pull her outside, he did what he knew best: bribe her. He promised her free rein to come to his library anytime she wished if she would cooperate and go to meals, outside, or elsewhere when he requested for the rest of the week. He even promised to connect the library's fireplace to her own so she wouldn't have to use the traveling room; she could just enter the library directly whenever she wished. 

There was something additional she wanted, and as she was not one to let a golden moment pass, she bartered for reciprocity for the next time he decided to make her come. After that first time in his chair he seemed to crave the moments he was able to make her euphoric. He'd greedily watched her face as she fell apart across his lap again the evening before, and she desperately wanted to see him come undone the same way, so she used the moment to wrangle an agreement from him.

The package deal was too tempting for Hermione to pass up and so the bargain was struck, although she would only ever have agreed to any of it for him. She didn't tell him that, however.

Their last week together passed largely in the library, with the exception of meals, some gardening in the morning, and afternoon walks that got ever longer as the week progressed. He only read to her occasionally after she was able to get up the stairs. What happened more often than not was that he ended up carrying her to bed after she fell asleep on his shoulder while reading some fascinating new tome. It was the quickest week of her life. 

Before she knew it, she’d taken her final potions, been cleared by Fawley, and was delivered home by Draco. She thanked him for looking after her, privately admitting to herself that it had been nice being taken care of for once. The next day would see them at work, so he bid her farewell until tomorrow, kissed her tenderly, and left in a swirl of green flames.

As she walked around her house, Hermione noticed it was spotless and didn’t at all smell stale. She couldn’t help but wonder if Bumble and Bee had been keeping up the place for her over the last month. Once she’d returned though, it seemed like her once cozy home was ill-fitting. Her shower felt too small as she washed her hair and her bed wasn’t anywhere near as soft or comfortable as the one she’d slept in at Draco’s house. Her pajamas left a lot to be desired as well after a month of rich, soft cottons, and comfortable warm robes and plush slippers. She made a note to ask him where he’d gotten them from so she could acquire a few new nightdresses. 

The biggest thing, though, was the lack of company, and the ringing silence that permeated until she turned on the radio. Dinner alone didn’t taste nearly as good, even though it was the same grilled cheese and tomato soup she’d had several evenings in the first week she’d spent with him, and it wasn’t just the brand differences either. No, it was that outside of the wireless playing quietly in the background, there was nothing else. No gray eyes traveling across to check on her, no witty or snarky commentary sliding out smoothly to goad or bait her into a debate that would turn into deep conversation. He wasn’t there with her tea exactly as she liked it or to give her a change of scenery when she needed a boost. The biggest thing, though, was that he wasn’t there to soothe her back into dreams before she could really wake up. It ended up being the poorest night of sleep she could remember, and she didn’t know what to do about any of it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> See you all next Saturday!


	19. Chapter 19

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Huge thanks to my Alpha/Betas NuclearNik and Monica03, without them I would be a mess and this story would be a disaster. Also a huge thanks to my Omegas (pre-readers) MarshmallowMcGonagall, QuinTalon, and Weestarmeggie!
> 
> To everyone who reads, subscribes, bookmarks, comments/reviews, follows, reblogs, likes, etc: I appreciate you all SO VERY MUCH. With the length of my chapters and the editing process, it leaves little time to come back and interact (I'll still try, however!). I promise though, all of it makes me go starry eyed and flail about every single time. 
> 
> Disclaimer: I own nothing.

Hermione popped a crisp in her mouth and chewed as she watched Harry prod at the roast Ginny had packed him for lunch. He’d been unusually quiet ever since they sat down. It was the first time it’d been just the two of them since she’d returned to work.

“So, erm, Hermione. I was wondering...” Harry pushed his glasses up his nose as he took a moment to study her. “I know he’s a tosser and we all have an awful history together, but— I mean… He does treat you alright behind closed doors doesn’t he? He’s not blackmailing you to date him or anything is he?”

If she rolled her eyes any harder, they’d likely get stuck. “Of course he’s not blackmailing me. I don’t give in to terroristic threats of any sort, you know that. I’d sooner curse him into a ferret permanently.” She felt the phantom warmth of Draco’s arms around her from when he carried her to bed after she’d fallen asleep reading, and she couldn’t stop the smile that tugged at her mouth. “But yes, Harry, he treats me quite well. I honestly couldn’t ask for better.”

“Just doing my due diligence. It’s too bizarre of a situation not to at least ask. If you’d told me last year any of this would be as it is, I’d have sent you to get your head checked.” He chuckled and finally took a bite of his lunch.

“No joke. I’d never in a million years have predicted this.” Her word choice made a thought swirl in the back of her mind. “Hey, is there anything left of the Hall of Prophecy, do you know? I mean, our fight with the Death Eaters did quite a number on it, but I never heard if they repaired or not.”

Harry squinted as he stared over her shoulder. “I’m not sure, I’ll have to ask. McLaggen is still sore over losing the charity match to Malfoy and the rest of us though. He may try to make life difficult if you were wanting to get in and see if there’s anything involving you, seeing as doing so is a favor and not a right.”

“Hmph. I can get by him legally if I really wanted to, or I could just borrow your cloak and avoid him entirely. Although, I do need to pay him a visit anyway.” Her brows furrowed at her sandwich as she decided exactly what unpleasantness she wanted to unleash on the pompous arse.

“Do I want to know why?”

She raised her eyebrows at him. What other interaction had Draco and Cormac had?

“Oh. They did play sort of dirty that day but everyone’s let that go already, Hermione. Maybe you should as well. Besides, do you really need another excuse to do something nasty to him after all the harassment he gave you during our last couple of years at Hogwarts?”

She shrugged. She’d been secretly unpleasant to the man back then, having given him boils to the bollocks more than once despite the fact he’d never been able to pin it on any one person in particular. Besides, she was more interested in getting vengeance for how he’d been a twat to Draco in what should have been a friendly match with the rest of his team following his lead.

Harry sighed and stopped attempting to persuade her. He’d long since learned that she was going to do what she wanted with or without his help. “Anyway, I’m glad at least that he’s treating you decently.” 

“More than decently, Harry. I meant it when I said that I couldn’t ask for better.” 

Hermione wouldn’t say it out loud, but it was for the better that nothing had ever developed with Ron. While Ron could be sweet in a boyish manner, she needed more in a partner. It would have been a relationship of extremes. The good times would have been great, but the bad times? Honestly, they would have been a nightmare and there would have been no going back from them unless she gave in. It would have been a waste of time, effort, and likely the destruction of a longtime friendship.

“Well, if he hurts you, dove, I’ll curse him until he’s nothing but a greasy spot in the grass.” He took her free hand in his and tenderly squeezed it.

Warmth bloomed behind her breastbone, and she gave a squeeze in return. “Thank you, Harry. I don’t think that’ll be necessary, but it’s always good to know you’ve got my back.”

“Always, Hermione, always.”

Her heart swelled and she squeezed his fingers tighter. Hermione sometimes wondered if they hadn’t been twins in another life. If she even remotely believed in Divination, she would have been tempted to seek out the answer. As it was, she still considered the whole segment of magic a ridiculous waste of time.

They pulled apart after another moment to continue eating their lunch. When only the crumbs remained, they tossed their trash and sat back in their chairs. Hermione’s office had been the place to escape to that day, apparently, as some mad thing was going down that somehow hadn’t involved Harry for once.

“So what’s got everyone stirred up today?” Hermione packed away her empty containers after spelling them clean.

“Oh, they’re pretty sure they’ve discovered the bolthole of one of the few remaining Death Eaters at large.”

“And you’re not involved, why?”

“Their reasoning is since I’m the cause of the fall of their master, my presence will likely inspire them to fight to the death in an attempt to finish what Voldemort couldn’t. As it is, they’re keeping Malfoy in disguise so he can help. They’d really flip their shit if they saw him there.”

Hermione’s stomach clenched at the thought of Draco mixed up in that mess. She knew from experience Death Eaters were dicey, but add in the element of law enforcement and the threat of Azkaban and, well, it didn’t make good odds for success. Magical fights were confusing, overwhelming, and dangerous. “Harry, I don’t even want to think of him being close to any of that.”

“He’ll be fine, Hermione. He’s staying out of sight even in his transfigured state.” His lips quirked to the side, and he looked away from her. That couldn’t be good.

"Harry, what have they done to Draco that has you looking like that? If you’re this amused, it can't be anything good."

"Well, let’s put it like this. After Williamson got done with him, he could easily fit in at any Weasley function."

Her mouth fell open before she snapped shut with an audible click of teeth. "He didn't."

"Oh, he did. Sort of reminds me of Bill now, honestly. If Bill had a mustache."

Hermione felt slightly guilty for the bubble of laughter that rose in her throat. She couldn't picture it and hoped there was either photographic evidence or that she got to see him in person before they undid the magic. Although, she preferred it to be from across the room so he couldn't see any mirth that may come from the sight.

"What did he do when he saw his reflection?"

"Scowled mainly. There was little he could do seeing as everyone was all rushed off as soon as their appearances were altered." Harry looked far too pleased at the memory.

"What did Draco do to deserve Williamson turning him into the Weasley doppelgänger?"

Harry froze and his eyes drifted back towards Hermione. "Well, erm, he... uh, sort of, maybe tricked Proudfoot out of his office."

Her eyes narrowed Harry. She had a feeling she wasn't going to like the answer to this, but she was going to ask anyway. "Which office, exactly, would that be?"

Harry squirmed under her gaze. "I think it's about time for me to be getting back to my own office. Lot of work to catch up on. You know how it goes!"

He jumped to his feet, but Hermione matched him and had her wand drawn and pointed at him before he could take so much as a single step. "Harry James Potter, you will tell me which office you speak of or you will have a semi-permanent set of antlers so you can match your Patronus."

Harry's hands shot up, palms open and facing her in surrender. "Um, well, um..."

"Out with it, Harry. Now!" She shifted the grip on her wand and leaned forward. 

"Alright, _alright_. Easy! It was this office."

"I'm sorry. I'm sure I didn't hear you correctly. I could've sworn you said it was _this_ office. _My_ office. The office I currently reside in."

"Yes, that's correct."

"And _how_ exactly did Draco trick this man out of his own office?" She’d found it suspicious before that Proudfoot—coincidentally the same man who had trained her—had behaved with repressed hostility more than once, but she thought she was just being silly since all of her direct interactions with the man were perfectly normal.

"Actually, he didn't so much as trick him as he did blackmail him." Harry squeezed his eyes closed as if waiting for an impending explosion.

"... Go on."

"I'd really rather not."

"Oh, _no_ , Harry, I insist. _Do continue_."

Harry sighed. "What I'm about to tell you does not leave this room, yes?"

Hermione merely raised her brows in answer.

"So, after Draco earned his Auror badge, he happened to stumble upon some documents. He stayed late one night after everyone else went home and was able to piece together that Williamson and Proudfoot had pulled some strings with a few members of the Wizengamot to get both his and his mother's sentences extended further than what had originally been planned."

Hermione's eyes went wide. "And he didn't report them?"

"Of course not, Hermione. Then he would've had no leverage over either of them. If that got out, it'd be a massive scandal. Even now things are tentatively peaceful, and something like this would disrupt the public’s trust in the law enforcement department. They knew it'd be the end of their careers and the end of their good standing in society. So they're willing to walk the line and dance to whatever tune Draco may come up with."

Suddenly an office seemed an awfully small price to pay in comparison to what he _should_ be extracting from them.

"Sounds like Williamson's playing with fire by doing Draco like he did."

"Not disagreeing, but truly it's unsurprising."

"And how do you know all this?" Her eyes narrowed at him again.

"Well, that was purely by accident. For once. Skeeter was running a story on me at the time that had my, erm, admirers all stirred up over. You remember when she ran that story speculating Ginny was leaving me for Zabini? Anyway, some of the admirers had taken to waiting in the lobby for me after I got off work, so I'd been wearing the cloak to get around unscathed. The entire floor was empty, save for Draco and Williamson. Draco was in Williamson's office, now _his_ office, and they were having what one may call an intense conversation.”

Harry brushed a hand back through his hair as he looked everywhere except Hermione. He licked his lips before continuing.

“It got heated, and I decided that it may be prudent to stick around, just in case wands were drawn. Draco shut him up quickly with all the evidence he'd collected. Explained how every little piece fit together as if he'd been giving a presentation at a board meeting. When he was finished, Williamson knew he was beat, so he asked Draco what he wanted. It started with both offices but Draco's yet to really cash in on anything. He's probably just waiting. He's different from how he used to be. _That_ Draco probably would've squandered the boon he'd gained. Now, though, I'd say he's saving it for something big."

Hermione's brows knit tightly together. If those two had done that to Draco and his mother, what else had other people done? She was almost afraid to learn. If wizarding society hadn't been so small, it would've been prudent to phase out all of the old guard with vetted individuals that could be actually counted on to do their jobs.

"That's, well, more than a bit disturbing. Who knows what else one would find if we went turning over rocks."

"Yeah, no joke. I hope it's something we don't have to deal with for a long time, if ever. Now that I've told you what you wanted to know, I really do need to be getting back to my office."

Hermione lowered her wand and reholstered it. "Today I'll let you remain antlerless, I suppose."

"Gee, thanks, Hermione."

"One more question before you go."

Harry shoulders tensed as he froze. "Yes?"

"Does Draco know that you know?"

"Yes. He cornered me later and demanded that I keep my silence."

Hermione rolled her eyes. "Bang up job you've done of that."

"Let's put it like this: between the two of you, I'll take my chances with him rather than go up against you with or without a wand."

She snorted, then waved him off. There was no doubt Draco was a powerful, capable wizard, but Harry knew exactly what she was capable of. He closed the door behind him as he left. 

Hermione became engrossed in her case file again and began to magically hang photographs and documents in the air around her in order to keep her desk from getting cluttered. They’d yet to locate the victim of the latest sacrifice, but seeing as the first had caused quite a shock to all involved, she had a feeling the second one would be no less surprising.

The Department of Mysteries had finally been able to undo the enchantments and booby traps that had been placed on the femur, then reverted the bone to its original form. That is to say, they turned it back into the victim, one Emilia Macnair. The wife of Walden Macnair, who’d gone missing after Voldemort’s fall. Rumor had it that she fled their home with some of the other Death Eaters who went to ground.

Hermione burned to know why they’d suddenly sacrificed her. Had she threatened them in some way? Her gut told her it was worse than that. The way that Voldemort’s followers slavishly behaved, Hermione suspected that it was voluntary, like Pagan rituals performed by the Vikings. To be a sacrifice in certain situations was seen as an honor, and that prospect didn’t bode well for their suspect list nor their motives.

She glanced across the room at an antique mirror hanging on her wall, watching as the shadows shuffled about in the background. Harry’s gift to her when she’d gotten the job had been Mad-Eye Moody’s Foe-Glass. He still had almost all of the former Auror’s equipment, including the trunk. It had come about that Moody had left the items in his will to Tonks. Andromeda had contacted Harry after everything settled and asked him if he wanted the items before she donated them to Hogwarts’ Defense Against the Dark Arts class. While he’d let a few things go to the school, the majority of it was set up in his office.

She was still watching the glass and was surrounded by floating evidence when the door opened. Draco slipped in, now blond again, and she was almost disappointed she hadn’t gotten to see him as a ginger until she noticed the mustache still on his scowling face. He’d managed to make it partially turn to his natural coloring, but apparently something out of the ordinary had been done to make it remain after he’d fixed the rest of his appearance.

“I would rather not go home and shave, so I’m here to request a favor. Can you _please_ get rid of this bloody mustache? I’ve no idea what Williamson did, but I can’t get it to budge.”

Hermione pinched her mouth together before resorting to biting her lips between her teeth in an attempt to withhold her mirth. His eyes narrowed at her as she slowly lost the battle and let out a string of giggles. 

“I fail to see what’s so comical.”

“I’m so—sorry,” another wave erupted from her lips, “I just never thought I’d see the day where you sported a mostly ginger mustache of all things.”

He clenched his fists at his sides and made to march right back out of her office when she jumped up and sped around the desk, catching his arm right before he got to her door. She placed herself between him and the exit, leaning against the wood.

“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have laughed at you. I don’t know what he did, but we’ll get it fixed. I promise.”

“It’s going to cost you for laughing at my expense.”

“What’s the price?”

He said nothing before crowding into her space and putting a hand on each side of her head. Leaning down, he rubbed his nose against hers, then trailed the tip down her jaw, bending his head to kiss directly under her ear in that one spot he’d recently found that made her buck against him when he bit or suckled there. She tilted her head to the side to grant him access. Normally she wouldn’t entertain such behavior in the workplace, but she could make an exception this once. It was an awfully small price to pay.

Instead of worshiping the spot with his lips, however, he took the opportunity presented to him and rubbed the scruff that had been magicked onto his face up and down her neck. She shrieked and tried to push him away, but he seized her wrists and pinned them to the door on either side of her head. She had no hope of Harry coming to her rescue either, not after putting up an active silencing charm when they’d taken their lunch break.

“That tickles!”

"I can tell, or at least I could before you deafened me." He rubbed against her tender flesh a few more times with what she could tell was a wicked grin.

Before she could shriek in his ear again, he pulled away with a chuckle to watch sparks shoot from her eyes as she glared at him.

He leaned in again, pausing to show her he wasn’t going to do anything else obnoxious, and this time placed a tender kiss upon her lips. She kissed him back for a moment before pulling away.

"All that facial hair, especially the mustache, has to go before anymore kissing can occur."

"But Granger, I thought you liked big, scruffy men. From what I recall, Krum often sported a five o'clock shadow."

Hermione scowled at him. "And I also didn't let him rub up against me like an overgrown cat either."

She struggled against the hands that held her pinned to the door. It was obvious that if it was a matter of strength against strength, she would lose every time. So she closed her eyes and began to focus. It must've reminded Draco of when she'd vanished her bra because he quickly let go of her and took two steps back, hands raised in surrender.

"Now, if you're done fooling around, let's try to undo whatever it was Williamson did you."

She led them back over to the desk and had him sit in the chair Harry had been occupying not even an hour before. After reclaiming her own chair, she studied his face and began some simple diagnostic charms before working her way down a list of spells. She'd almost exhausted the list and thought they were going to have to recruit Fawley when she finally hit pay dirt.

The spell was seldom used and unlikely to be thought of by the average Auror. Really, the only reason she knew it was because she'd learned it in preparation of going on the Hunt. It was one of those last resort sort of spells that one hoped they never had to use. Typically, it was reserved for healers who were dealing with strong and complex transfiguration magic.

She scowled furiously. How dare that old codger transfigured Draco like that. What was he supposed to do if he couldn't figure out how to undo it? Shave it off and hope it didn't come back? Go to St. Mungo’s and have them figure it out?

She was so wrapped up in her thoughts she hadn’t noticed he’d moved until he was pulling her to her feet. His hand slipped around the back of her neck to thread his fingers through her hair and cup the back of her head, still so gentle despite the fact that she’d been fully healed for a bit.

He dipped his head down and paused just close enough that she could feel the puffs of his breath against her lips and when she didn’t object, he closed the gap between them. Her fingertips traced along the bottom of his waistcoat as she felt the brush of his warm tongue along the seam of her lips, and she was about to open for him when the click of the doorknob turning sounded in the room.

Quicker than she could blink, he was gone from her and she found herself pressed against his back, his hand gripping her hip and holding her in place as he stood tall in front of her. They were in the DMLE; who exactly did he expect to come through the door? Voldemort or Bellatrix perhaps?

“Potter.” Draco moved to the side, revealing a befuddled Harry standing in the doorway. Harry squinted at the man before ignoring him entirely.

“I’ve got that report you were wanting, ‘Mione. There wasn’t much information to be had on Emilia Macnair, but we’re still waiting on a couple of interviews to be completed. Until then, I thought you may be interested in what we do have so far.” Harry tossed the file as if it were a frisbee and Hermione watched, impressed, as it floated across the room to land neatly in the center of her desk.

“Thank you, Harry. Hopefully it’ll give me something to work off. Have you been able to do anything with the blood samples from the last scene?”

His mouth pinched together. “No. McLaggen told me this morning that they’ve been in contact with the Ministries of a few other countries after they hit dead-ends with their own methods, so they’re trying out some new techniques. He should know something by the end of the week.”

“Thanks, Harry.”

He nodded to her before departing, pulling the door firmly closed behind him.

“Next time, I’ll be sure to lock the door.” Draco moved to her desk and flipped the folder open, reading through the contents of the thin report. “I need to stop by the Manor after dinner to check on Mother. I’ll ask her what she knows about Emelia. They’re about the same age and moved in similar circles, so she probably has a great deal more information than what little is here.”

Hermione should’ve been embarrassed to have been caught the way they’d been, even though it was only Harry, but she couldn’t find it in herself to be bothered. There shouldn’t be a next time seeing as they were at work, but she said nothing. Instead, she moved to stand beside him, their arms barely touching as she read through the scraps of information. She bit her lip and wondered if she’d be breaking any sort of rules by asking if she could accompany him. She didn’t want to seem as if she were inviting herself though, and before she could open her mouth to ask he’d already spoken up, as if he knew what she wanted.

“Would you like to accompany me? I’m sure Mother has a list of things she wants me to do and you likely have questions I wouldn’t think of.”

“I don’t want to impose…”

“Nonsense. Mother won’t mind. I daresay she’s been wanting to talk to you for a while now.”

Hermione shifted her weight and ran her palm down her trousers. “Oh?” Her voice hitched, and she cursed internally.

Draco turned and tucked her against him before tipping her head back with a finger. Gray eyes studied her intently. “Hey,” he murmured, “you don’t have to if you don’t want to. She just wants to get to know you a bit. Usually there’s a process to these things, and while she’s been compliant to my wishes, she’s still interested in the woman who has her only son’s undivided attention.”

Draco had been shielding her? It shouldn’t surprise her, but she’d expected him to have a list of traditions and events to comply with since they’d formally begun their relationship, but to date there’d been nothing. She relaxed against him and slid her arms up around his neck. “Tell me more about courtship in your world. I’m sure Narcissa has been looking forward to this since you were a boy.”

He sighed as he watched her, as if he were debating what all to tell her. Finally, he snagged her chair and sat, pulling her into his lap after he was settled. She leaned into him, watching him with wide eyes. It wasn’t the first time she’d wondered about it, but Ginny had been unavailable for interrogation, and she’d rather hear it from Draco anyway. 

“It’s a very old process. Antiquated to say the least. Usually there’s a meeting between the parents and they decide if the match is a suitable one. This depends on different factors like if the match is one for family gain, a political match, to settle a feud, or what have you. The biggest decider lies in their genealogy. Despite their obsession with keeping bloodlines “pure,” they wanted to ensure that if there was any relation between the two parties, it was quite distant. It’d be pointless to maintain purity if it resulted in potentially compromised genetics of any offspring.”

She raised her eyebrows when he didn’t continue.

“Are you sure you want to hear all of this? It’s all a load of old tosh.”

“Yes, I’m sure. Please continue.” She would bet her best tart pan that at least a few of the traditions still meant something to him, whether he admitted to it or not.

He sighed quietly. “So after the match is approved, there’s typically a series of meetings between the parents and the proposed match. With females it would be things like tea, party planning, or dabbling together in the garden with Mother. It’s an opportunity for the parents to get to know them and decide if they’re good enough for their child. Men typically hunt, smoke cigars, and sip bourbon, or do activities like golf. Traditionally there are many chaperoned dates, although to my understanding, unsupervised outings have become acceptable in the last century as long as they are kept entirely public. Dinner is often had at the gentleman’s home to see if everyone fits together cohesively as a family unit. This is more important for situations where generations of families live together, where the younger couple will take over the estate when the elders pass. Like in the case of my parents...”

Draco paused and seemed to be lost in thought for a moment, perhaps recalling a memory, and then he seemed to come back to himself and resumed where he left off. “Anyway, if the arrangement seems to be working out, the man’s parents will throw a ball which is the equivalent of announcing the impending engagement to society. At different points, there are gifts given or gestures made to signify that each party is still as strongly invested. If after six months to a year the parties are all in agreement, a marriage contract is drawn and an engagement is made. Then there’s another party and a society announcement. Sometimes for the first year or so the newlyweds will live at another property to adjust to married life with no additional interference if they’re to live with other generations at the same estate.”

He was right. That did sound antiquated but also charming in the way things can seem when they’re not being forced onto you.

“And you’re sure you don’t want to do _any_ of these?” She wouldn’t believe him if he said no. He would have been raised to expect these traditions to be maintained and would maybe even have looked forward to at least a few of the steps.

He picked up the hand that wore the ring he’d given her and kissed the palm of it. “Well, I did do one of them.”

She repressed a shiver at the feel of his lips on the sensitive skin and refocused on the discussion. “It’s a bit unbalanced though, seeing as I have no idea where to even begin. What are some things I can do? I want to be able to do something significant for you, too.” 

“If you really, really want to, then I suggest talking to Mother, but don’t feel obligated. I only know half of it with a very vague idea of the rest. My father didn’t find it very pressing to go beyond my responsibilities for whichever witch I decided was right for me. Said he didn’t want to spoil any potential surprises. It’s apparently one of those things you learn about more after you experience them or some such rubbish.”

“Do you think your mother would be amenable to tea?”

“Yes, but like I said, don’t feel as if you have to do anything you don’t want to.”

“It only makes sense to get to know her, seeing as she’s the mum of the man I’m enamored with.”

The corners of his mouth curled in delight as his eyes brightened. The lock clicked into place and then he was kissing her again, more fervently than before.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> See you all next Saturday <3


	20. Chapter 20

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Huge thanks to my Alpha/Betas NuclearNik and Monica03, without them I would be a mess and this story would be a disaster. Also a huge thanks to my Omegas (pre-readers) MarshmallowMcGonagall, QuinTalon, and Weestarmeggie!
> 
> To everyone who reads, subscribes, bookmarks, comments/reviews, follows, reblogs, likes, etc: I appreciate you all SO VERY MUCH. With the length of my chapters and the editing process, it leaves little time to come back and interact (I'll still try, however!). I promise though, all of it makes me go starry eyed and flail about every single time.
> 
> Disclaimer: I own nothing.

After the tenth time of Hermione taking things to Draco’s office or calling him into hers, he decided that they would simply commandeer another, much larger office until the whole fiasco was over. Draco gave Robards notice, and just a couple corridors down from the DMLE there was an entire hallway of unused offices he led her to. If Hermione had a guess, they’d likely been empty for at least a decade if the amount of dust coating the furniture was any indicator. 

Draco chose the office at the very end of the corridor, which also happened to be the largest by far of the entire set. It made Hermione suspect he’d been planning it a while before he came in after the department was rocked with its latest bout of loud ruckus and told her to start gathering her things; they were moving.

Thanks to magic, everything was cleaned and relocated within the hour. They’d dedicated an entire wall to sticking evidence on to rearrange at their leisure as the picture became clearer. Draco had brought in a couple of extra tables and some other supplies, but he wouldn’t explain their purpose; no matter how many questions she asked.  _ All good things to those who wait _ was the only thing he’d say about any of it, much to her consternation.

Hermione was just settling in to analyze some of the notes she’d taken when she’d interviewed Narcissa on both Emelia Macnair and their second victim, Astrea Yaxley, when Harry came bursting through the door, out of breath. 

“There’s been another incident in your case. I’ve got a Portkey for the both of you right here. Robards wants you there immediately, of course.” 

Draco cast a stasis charm over whatever he was brewing in the cauldron—that he still refused to tell her anything about—and turned his attention to their visitor. He strode over to take the handkerchief wrapped item from Harry, who went scurrying back whence he came, and deposited it on his desk. Before he unwrapped it, he sat, turned her chair with his foot, and rolled over until he was pressing the inside of his knees against the outside of hers, ensuring he had her undivided attention.

“We should discuss a few things before we go, I think.” He looked as if he was choosing his words carefully, and she already knew it would likely not be a pleasant conversation.

She crossed her arms over her chest and leaned back in her seat. She didn’t know how, but she somehow knew he was about to make her angry.

He sighed at the motion but didn’t hesitate. “When we go to the scene, you’re going to have to stay close to me and do what I say. If I say ‘stop,’ you freeze. If I tell you to run, you don’t question it.”

It was instinctual for her to recoil and get her back up at those sorts of words. Who exactly did he think he was? Did he think for an instant she’d just comply like some brainless twit? She wasn’t aware she’d made a face until he was stealing her hands and pulling her out of her defensive pose.

“Look, I know you’re capable. And powerful. I just… I can’t allow anything to happen to you again. We’re two for two on this case with you getting severely injured, not to mention scaring the life out of me. I know you’re a Gryffindor until your dying breath, but I’ll do  _ whatever _ I have to to keep you safe. I don’t seek to control you, but I wouldn’t be able to handle it if something— If you—” He exhaled swiftly. “You cannot go where I can’t follow.” His hands squeezed hers tight as he choked the last bit out, staring her in the eyes imploringly.

Oh.  _ Oh! _

He was afraid she was going to die, likely right in front of him, and now he would be responsible for that should it happen. It’d be something he’d never forget. He’d never live it down that she died in his care. It’d ruin him entirely; she could already see it. He wouldn’t even have a career to bury himself in to try to escape the loss.

Maybe they shouldn’t have been partnered together. It was a conflict of interest. There were no anti-fraternization rules except for managers and subordinates, but it was made clear that if anything should be going on between two coworkers, they should keep it as discreet as possible.

Her anger wilted in the face of his worry.

“I promise I’ll be more careful. I don’t want to get hurt again, and I don’t want to put you through that again either.” It was the best she could give him. She knew herself well enough to know better than to make any promises despite being secretly gun-shy after the last two incidents. Every time there had been commotion or someone came into their office unexpectedly, her hands would sweat and her heart took off at the thought of another scene she’d have to investigate. It was inevitable, but she refused to be a coward and quit. It was like waiting for the proverbial axe to fall.

Draco groaned and let his head fall back, his hands slipping from hers. She could tell he was making plans as he rolled back to his desk and began to gather his things. 

Hermione took her cue from him, directing things into her bag with a wave of her wand as she donned her cloak, trying to ignore how trite her reply had been in comparison to what he’d confessed. Her heart contracted, but she refused to lie to him, and she had no better reassurances to offer.

He extended a hand to her, his eyes still on his desk. She knew there were bound to be some things they’d fight over and now they were going to see just how well they could handle a disagreement of this magnitude. She’d have to make a conscientious effort to use her brain rather than running on reactions and instinct. She’d have to show him, rather than make promises.

Slipping her hand into his, she squeezed his fingers and closed her eyes as he picked up the golf ball. Then they were whisked away, and moments later they were at the scene. She cursed under her breath as her left knee buckled on the hard landing, and she stumbled. Instantly, his hands were at her waist, stabilizing her.

“Thank you,” she said, peeking over her shoulder.

He nodded and let go once he was sure she wouldn’t fall. She began to examine the scene, putting everything else out of her mind—especially her unease. They’d deal with it later. Now was the time to work on catching a killer.

They were in a glen with hills rising sharply on either side of them. It stretched out far, but she caught sight of it opening up to what looked like a field on one end. At the other was a smaller waterfall that fed a pool and a steady moving stream traveling about halfway down one side, disappearing into the base of the hill. The trees were thick on the hillsides and ridges, contributing to the feeling of being penned in. Magic was heavy in the air, even with the ozone-like presence of Dark Magic. It differed from the last two scenes in that the majority of the magic seemed to be uncollected, or perhaps there’d been an overwhelming amount that’d been tapped. The hair on her arms and the back of her neck stood on end from the sensation.

A multicolored carpet of leaves crunched underfoot. Hermione noticed that there was no barrier here; although, if she had to guess, she would say that they were far, far away from anyone that may contaminate anything. The other Ministry workers present were all bunched together, far from where the scene would have officially begun.

“How are they even finding these places?” Hermione muttered, eyebrows scrunched.

“Who?”

“The Ministry. How do they even know these sites have been disturbed? There’s no telling how far away the closest house even is unless you’re thinking as the Thestral flies. And even then...”

“Best way I can explain it is there are charms that function sort of like how Muggles detect radiation with a, erm…” Draco huffed as he hunted for the word.

“Geiger counter?” What on Earth did Draco Malfoy know about radiation?

“Yes, those. Anyway, when high concentrations of magic are released at a protected location, it sets off a charm and alerts the Ministry.”

“Then why is it we’ve yet to catch anyone?”

“Not sure. There seems to be a delay between when the charm is triggered and when it actually notifies. The theory I’ve heard is that the sheer amount of magic being released is overwhelming the charm and what’s left of it after the magic has been mostly depleted is what sends the alert. By the time anyone arrives, the perpetrators are long gone. This time there was so much that it set off the charms at a magical lake not even half a mile away. Likely destroyed the charm here entirely.”

The charm being eaten up by the sheer force of magic being expelled made sense. The analogy made sense as well, seeing as it was probably like a bomb going off whenever the magic was liberated. 

She heard clicking and looked up, noting Colin circling overhead on his broom, snapping pictures to gain an aerial composition of the scene. There were fewer people than normal, and Hermione would bet that it had something to do with the explosion that happened at the first scene she investigated. 

The altar at this scene was located near the waterfall at the end of the glen. Hermione began to wave her wand back and forth as they walked, avoiding obvious trails and highlighting others, causing Colin to speed around the area, catching the freshly lit pathways on film. As they approached, Hermione noticed a shimmer in the air. Someone had erected a glamor, almost like a wall. Draco led her through it, and it felt like passing through a cool mist. 

It was immediately apparent why it had been erected once they were on the other side. Unlike the last two scenes, the dead, naked body of a woman was still on the slab. Her eyes were wide and lifeless, and some of the blood vessels in her eyes had burst. If the emerging pattern held, she was likely the wife of a former Death Eater who’d given herself as a sacrifice in a dark ritual. What were these women sacrificing themselves for?

Hermione blinked and froze. It was obvious, wasn’t it? The Death Eaters fought to the death for Voldemort. It only made sense that if their surviving wives were sacrificing themselves, then it would be in service of another up-and-coming Dark Lord—a convoluted way of avenging their fallen husbands.

“Granger?” 

She ignored Draco’s voice and kept chasing after the thread of thought. 

Voldemort may have died, but his Death Eaters were not so easily defeated. This wouldn’t be over until every last one was stamped out like cockroaches. Why else would so many people flee the country and society at large?

“What is it? What’s wrong?” Warm hands cupped her cheeks, and she blinked. “Where did you go?”

“I think I know why we keep seeing these specific women being sacrificed.” Her voice trembled as she forced the answer out.

Blond brows rose in askance.

“They’re raising a new Dark Lord. The Death Eaters and sympathizers that got away lived to fight another day. And now that day has come.” 

As if her system finally caught up to the realization, her heart began to pound in her chest in earnest. A new Dark Lord meant another war. Another war meant their current period of peace was just a lull in the nightmare.

“Hermione!”

She noticed a ripple of magic through the air as he spun her around. Arms wrapped around her, and he tucked her against his warm, firm body. Lips were moving against the shell of her ear as fingers tapped out a rhythm on the back of the hand that was now laced with his. After many minutes, sound filtered back in, much like the first time she’d ever panicked in front of him at the Greengrass party.

Hermione began to exert conscious control over her breathing and attempted to synch with him in that old familiar pattern. It took longer than she cared to think about, but finally, she was able to turn her head and meet his gaze with heated cheeks before looking away.

She’d done so well—hadn’t had a panic attack in months. Now, this realization she really ought to have seen coming had her breaking down as if they’d never gone to France in the first place.

“Hey, this is nothing to be ashamed of. Did you think that you’d never have another one? That’s highly improbable, statistically speaking.” He turned her to face him, and before she could tuck her face into his chest, he caught her chin, tilting her head back so he could look her in the eye again. “Do you want to know a secret?”

She nodded.  _ Why not? _

“Just because you’ve never seen them doesn’t mean I haven’t experienced them since France. And it’s alright. As long as they’re not ruling our lives, it’s a normal thing to experience. We’re war survivors; it’s not exactly thrilling to learn that we’re likely about to have to deal with it all again.”

She blinked twice. When? And why? Not that he owed her any sort of explanation, but it made her yearn to be there for him in the way he always seemed to be for her. She ended up nodding in agreement after coming up with a lack of unintrusive questions. 

He moveded back, and it was as if they stepped out of a dimensional rip and back into reality. They continued on their way to the altar. He was walking close enough that he was able to sneak his pinky around hers and still conceal it in the folds of their cloaks. Not for the first time, she noticed the comfort that emanated from his touch; it had become stronger after staying with him. She’d noted it in her journal along with the comment Fawley had made about how she was inordinately lucky to have regained her mobility and range entirely. It was another mystery she’d been ruminating on in private. 

They arrived at the grisly scene, and she tucked those thoughts away for later.

She examined the body where it lay, noting where the blood spray had fallen, and more importantly, where it was not. This altar was one solid piece and had cracked straight down the center. Apparently they’d been unaware of the geyser of power before they uncorked the bottle. It made her wonder if any of them came away unscathed. She made a note to submit an inquiry to St. Mungo’s about anyone that had recently been treated for trauma, perhaps under the guise of an exploding cauldron or something similar. 

It also made her wonder if there were any repercussions from being exposed to so much raw magic. A visit to Draco’s library was in order to research the effects.

She examined the altar all the way around, casting spells to gain rubbings of the runes, collect blood samples, and illuminate any hand or smudge prints. Colin waved his camera at her from a distance, letting her know he was leaving to get film and she waved back in acknowledgement. 

As she was turning back to the altar, something in the corner of her eye caught her attention. The sunlight dancing through the remaining leaves had caught on something shiny; nothing out here should be shiny. Maybe it was a ceremonial weapon or perhaps a piece of jewelry? Whatever it was, a wave of curiosity crashed over her at the sight of it, and she turned, taking a step in its direction before she was pulled to a stop. Looking down to see what stopped her, she found her pinky still linked with Draco’s.

Her eyes traveled up the length of his arm and came to rest on his face. His long scarf was wrapped securely around his neck and stopped just underneath his chin, his pale coloring standing out in stark contrast to both the darkness of his cloak and scarf as well as the brightly colored foliage. A wild thought interjected itself with a conjecture that he would look at home in either a wintry or summery scene. Green and silver had always looked good on him, after all.

“Where are you going?” He glanced in the direction she’d tried to head towards, and his brows furrowed.

Her head whipped around back towards where she’d seen the glinting of gold in the leaves. She had an unexplainable desire to go find it, to pick it up. Something nudged at the back of her mind, but she waved it off as if it were an irksome fly.

“I saw something.”

She could feel the intensity of his gaze as he studied her, but she paid it little mind. The rest of his fingers slipped across the backs of hers, wrapping her securely in his grasp. “Where?” 

She pointed to the area and felt his eyes leave her for but a moment before returning squarely on her.

“We’ll look, but let’s take it slow just in case there are other things between here and there that are hidden in the leaves.”

Hermione had a strong suspicion that there wasn’t, but there was no logical argument to be had against it.

“Alright.”

They set off across the glen at a leisurely pace. About halfway through, Draco pulled out his wand, and she had the bizarre notion to take it from him but shoved it away as he began to blow through the carpet of leaves to create a clear path on the forest floor. Something itched at the back of her mind again, but she couldn't focus on it. 

There were two things holding her attention at that moment. One was the warm, yet firm grip of his hand and the other was the location of what she’d spied from afar.

She tried to step ahead the closer they got to it, which made him pull their hands backwards in an attempt to keep her even with him. It was just a few steps away, and she  _ had _ to have it. 

It was for  _ her _ . 

It was hers, and he wasn’t going to take it from her! Hermione made to dart forward but Draco was apparently a step ahead of her and elegant as a dancer, he used her momentum against her and spun her towards him. He twisted her in his hold to where her back was against his chest with his arm like a vice around her waist.

“No!”

She struggled against him almost instantly, wriggling hard and using any means to get out of his hold. 

She had to have it. 

_ Have to have it have to have it have to have it have to— _

A twirl of his wrist sent all the leaves within a fifteen-foot radius of them tumbling away in a brilliant swirl.

There on the forest floor was a single golden Galleon, winking in the shifting rays of sunlight that were let in as the unnatural wind blew about the remaining leaves overhead. She picked up her left foot and moved to bring it back hard against Draco’s knee, but he straightened and brought her off the ground entirely, causing her to miss by mere inches. She growled low in her throat. 

How dare he?!

The ringing in her ears was deafening as she honed in on the coin, leaning forward and straining against his arm as she reached, hands outstretched. She summoned magic from deep inside herself, calling the coin to her. It wiggled and began to slide towards them when Draco turned them and broke her line of sight, dragging them a few feet away.

She threw her head back and howled her rage to the forest canopy. Before she could attempt any more violence, he pulled her face towards his and caught her lips in a bruising kiss, and suddenly, all there was left on Earth was  _ him _ .

It felt like a band snapping as its hold broke from around her mind. Her body relaxed back against his, and the death grip she had on his arm with both hands loosened. The earth became solid under her feet when it was clear she wasn’t going to fight him. He pulled away for a moment as if testing the waters when the whole incident came crashing back into her mind.

She’d fought him, actually fought against him and was even going to break his knee to make him put her down. Her mouth dropped open with a gasp, her eyes wide. Steady hands turned her, and he engulfed her in his arms again, this time in a soothing embrace.

"I don't know what came over me… I'm so fucking sorry." Her throat closed up before she could get anything else out.

He shushed her as his hands drifted across her back, and she went lax against his chest. “It’s not your fault you were bewitched. Although, after the last two incidents and then this, it’s pretty clear you’re a target.”

If she hadn’t had her realization crash down around her ears earlier, she may not have believed it was aimed towards her but more towards the DMLE. Now, however, it gave a fresh perspective. It was no secret that Harry had succeeded because of her and Ron. Now that forces were gathering, it only made sense that they wanted retribution, and she was Mudblood enemy number one.

She felt him shift and peeked up to see him looking back over his shoulder. As she remembered that the Galleon was there, the tug made itself known again. This time she was ready for it and clenched his suit coat in her fingers as she buried her face against him, inhaling his scent and grounding herself in the moment.

“Hermione?”

The urge to go to it again built, and she shook as she fought it off. It was like fighting off the Imperius Curse, but worse.

“Fuck.”

His wand hand left her, and she whimpered, squashing herself until there was no space at all left between them as she ground her molars together. 

The feel of the coin moving was visceral, as if it were an extension of her, and only the tightening of his arm around her waist kept her from darting around him to go after it again. Then suddenly, it was as if the connection between her and the coin were gone entirely.

She leaned to the side to take a peek, her fingers still crumpling his coat in their grip. He’d summoned a jar and inside lay the Galleon; the tightly shut lid was all that separated her from it. Hermione stepped around him to go to examine the jar and Draco walked beside her, hands linked. She took only a few steps before the coin began to rattle violently against the glass. Before Draco could blink, she was pulling him backwards. The further she got from it, the more it settled in its jar.

Before she could drag him further, he waved his wand and suddenly it vanished entirely, transported back to the DMLE somewhere. She clenched her eyes shut, squeezing them as she worked through counted breaths. The pressure of his fingertips along the backs of her metacarpals was comforting, even if she wasn’t wrapped up in him. After a few moments, once the world felt like it wasn’t about to fall from under her feet, she opened her eyes again.

“Let’s head back to the office. Colin’s about to finish up photographing the scene.” Draco was watching the younger man as he was floating in their direction, fiddling with his camera settings.

“We’ve some things yet to examine.” She looked towards the pool at the base of the waterfall.

“We can come back tomorrow. I’ve some ideas I want to read up on anyway. We’ll have them set impenetrable wards.”

“Do you trust them to set them correctly?” She didn’t. Not if they couldn’t come up with something better than the flimsy little notification charms.

He let out a nearly silent sigh. “We can stop by and set our own after everyone else has returned to the office.” He cut his eyes over towards her.

“What ideas did you have in mind?”

“I will tell you everything if you come back with me.”

“Cheating!”

He was entirely unrepentant as he shrugged. She couldn’t say she wanted to stay there, however. Not after whatever bit of nastiness that had been with the Galleon. Something in her gut told her it was a Portkey, but her mind was trying to shy from it. After last time, it was too close a call. If she’d been with anyone else, she’d have been gone or cursed or dead. Perhaps even all three.

“Shall we?”

“Fine, let me collect the rest of the samples before we go.”

He stayed close as she transferred the blood and viscera in the grass and on the rocks to a set of vials. After tucking them away she took his proffered hand.

They landed back in their office with a thud, and this time she had no problem staying upright.

The afternoon was spent with them split between their tasks. Draco had resumed making the potion he’d been working on and began reading some ancient-looking books. Hermione had set upon the task of sorting out the blood, dividing it out by owner. Apparently the woman hadn’t been the only one to bleed, but that could have been a mishap when the magic had been set loose. Afterward, she started translating the runes from the altar. It wasn’t until Draco stole the quill from between her stained fingers that she realized it was nearing time to go home.

“By the time we finish at the glen, the elves will have dinner made. That is if you want to come over.”

Of course, she did. “That’d be lovely, thank you.”

Perhaps she should be embarrassed by the frequency at which she desired his company, but she couldn’t bring herself to care. She had lunch with Harry and Ginny twice a week on Mondays and Fridays. On Wednesdays, she occasionally lunched with other friends or ran errands in Diagon with them but more often than not, she found herself spending that time with Narcisssa, getting to know her. Tuesdays and Thursdays belonged to Draco, who refused to negotiate with anyone else who may have wanted those days. Every other evening they had dinner together. On Sunday afternoons, they had tea with Narcissa and Andromeda before one of the older women invariably sent Draco off with some task or other, and the three witches would spend the rest of the time cutting flowers or herbs in the conservatory as they chatted. It had been surprisingly lovely getting to know Narcissa. Hermione had expected the woman to be a total ice queen but once they’d found their footing, she found her to be much like Andromeda in demeanor.

The trip to the glen was quick. A spell showed no further entities had intruded in the space, and they each added to the wards set on the area, and then they were off to Appledale.

After dinner, they retreated to the library and Hermione gave Draco time to get settled in his favored corner of the couch while she wasted time under the guise of searching for a specific book. She already knew where it was, having put it back just days prior, but really she was using the time to scheme. She’d had the loveliest dream the night before of sitting on his lap and jerking him off until he’d thrown his head back with a growl, right before his come coated her fingers. That morning she promised herself that she’d finally act on the desire, and so she had come prepared. Swapping out her plain knickers for a red satin pair, she transfigured her trousers into a loose, flouncy skirt. She slipped on a pair of lace topped thigh highs and put her heels back on before returning to him. After the stress of the day, they both sorely needed a release.

When she made her way back, he was engrossed in whatever tome he’d chosen. She plucked it from his fingers, setting it aside on the end table as she climbed onto his lap, her skirts bunching around them. She ran her hands from just above his belt buckle to his shoulders, and his gray eyes gleamed in the dimness, pupils slowly blowing wide.

He captured one of her hands in his own, pressing gentle kisses to her palm as he stared at her reverently.

“May I kiss you?” he asked hoarsely. He still asked occasionally and it sent just as much of a thrill through her as the first time.

She nodded faintly, his other hand slipping around to cup the back of her neck, pulling him to her. His mouth caressed hers gently before pressing them together firmly, pulling back only to return to her over and over again. He let her other hand go to pull her back against him before running his hand down to the small of her back. She rocked her hips against him, feeling him hard underneath her and taking advantage of his gasp to slip her tongue in his mouth, tasting him and teasing him. When he began to meet her in earnest, she continued the gentle rocking of her hips as she sucked on his tongue, reveling in the haggard groan that was wrenched from his throat.

His hand began to slide up her stockinged thigh, and she was glad she’d made the decision to wear them. Breath hitching in his throat, he caressed the material reverently and pulled back enough to gauge her reaction. Her hands went to the buttons of the cream blouse she’d put on that morning, undoing them with a languid slowness. With a wave of her hand, she vanished her bra and watched his eyes darken in desire as she bared her breasts to him. Cupping herself with both hands, she flicked her nipples and gasped as he watched hungrily.

His fingertips caressed her inner thigh when he looked to her, asking permission.

“Please don’t stop,” she said hoarsely. 

His hands left her thigh highs to cup her mound through the satin knickers. She ground herself against his palm with a groan twice before he vanished them entirely. He traced along her lips, taking his time to explore the feel of her before dipping a finger between her folds, collecting the gathered moisture at her slit, then finding her clit. He started off in languid circles, watching as a flush bloomed on her chest, moving up her neck as her eyes glazed over and gasps and whines fell from her lips. She squeezed her breasts, pinching the nipples tightly before letting out a hiss as the blood rushed back. 

His fingers picked up the pace, rubbing tighter, firmer circles as his eyes flickered between her face and her hands as she handled her breasts. Her panting mouth was what his eyes lingered on as they traveled between the two, and she wondered if he would let her suck his cock. Releasing her thigh, he brought his hand to her face to caress her lips then cheek with his fingertips, another groan ripped from his throat as she caught his thumb in her mouth to suckle on it, eyes meeting his. Her tongue trailed along the digit before she popped it from her mouth to throw her head back, keening his name as lights exploded behind her eyes while her orgasm rocked her. 

He slowed more to a languid pace as she came back to Earth, catching her breath before pulling away from his fingers with a whine about being sensitive. After she got her breathing back under control, she rocked forward, devouring his mouth and placing tiny kisses all along his face. He captured her lips as his hands went back to caressing her thighs, dragging his fingers against the silky material.

Her hands went to his belt, managing to get it undone before he caught her wrists. “You don’t have to,” he whispered.

Her desires had changed from earlier, and she felt bold enough to say what she wanted. “I want to. I want you in my mouth so badly.” 

She was concerned that he was going to object entirely until he finally spoke.

“Can you use your hands this time? I want to be able to feel you,” he said, squeezing her stocking covered thighs, his eyes pausing on her breasts before they returned to hers. “See you.”

She nodded, biting her bottom lip. The way he was now handling her stocking covered thighs and how he had in the past made her wonder if he had a hosiery fetish. Her brain began to make lists of things to purchase as her fingers unbuttoned his trousers and pulled the zipper down, freeing his rigid cock. He lifted his hips and she dragged them down far enough to access all of him. She turned her attention to his shirt, running one finger down the line of buttons, watching as they all came loose under her touch.

She explored his chest, dragging her fingernails along his nipples and filing away the way he shivered before slowly descending down his abdomen, along his pubic bone and past where he desperately wanted her attention to slide along his thighs. His muscles clenched underneath her touch, eliciting a shudder from him as she trailed the tips of her nails along his inner thighs and made the return trip back up, her thumbs brushing along his sac as he sucked in a ragged breath.

She ran her hand along his shaft before lifting it to her mouth, coating the palm with her tongue, and his gray eyes glued to the motion as he squeezed her thighs. She dropped her hand back between them, gripping him firmly at the base and curling her fingers around him. Slowly, she began to work her hand up and down.

“Tell me what you like.”

“Tighter,” he rasped, and so she did until he’d started nodding his head.

She worked his cock at a moderate pace, twisting her hand when it neared the head, brushing the frenulum with her thumb on the way up. The fingers of her other hand weren’t idle, lightly dragging the tips of her digits along his sac, thrilling at the hiss that came from between his clenched teeth. “Fuck, just like that. It’s like you already know what to do.”

She watched his face as she experimented with changing speeds, changing pressures, paying special attention to his head sometimes on the upstroke. His hands continued to stroke along her legs, occasionally squeezing her calf or thigh, already knowing to stay away from her knee after the previous incident. She’d caught him looking at her legs before, more than once when she’d worn dark hosiery but hadn’t paid it much more mind than recognizing it as an appreciative look.

His eyes were hazy, pupils blown wide and jaw clenched tightly. Gasps and quiet groans erupted from his throat as he stared alternatively at her breasts and her hands as they worked him over steadily.

“Hermione, I’m about to— going to—” He was cut off by his orgasm rocking him, splintering him into a thousand pieces as he came in hot spurts with force down her hands, on her skirts, and his trousers. She watched in rapt fascination as he threw his head back against the couch, exposing an expanse of his neck to her as he cried out. She’d never seen anything more beautiful. It made her soul sing, filling her chest with warmth.

She slowed her pace as he came back down until he finally pulled her hands away with one of his own. He picked his wand up from next to them and with a simple spell, they were both clean again. He held onto her hip with one hand as he lifted himself, pulling his trousers back up with the other with her help until he was righted and gently tucked back inside. He shifted, twisting them until she was tucked against the back of the couch, curled up tightly against him in his arms. He buried his face in her wild curls as his hands stroked her back. She felt safe and secure, knowing he wouldn’t have come like that had he not enjoyed it, but she still had to know for sure.

“Was it okay?”

She felt the rumble of the chuckle more than heard it, felt his lips curl against her. “It was bloody fantastic. You were perfect.” 

Her blood sang in her veins at the praise and with a satisfied smirk, she snuggled closer against him. She wasn’t sure when she fell asleep but the next morning when she awoke in the bedroom she’d mentally claimed as her own. It was the best night’s sleep she’d had since she’d returned home. The blankets were still warm beside her, and she couldn’t stop the grin that spread across her face as she got ready for the day. To her delight, she found an outfit in the bathroom that one of the elves must have retrieved from her closet at home.

That day at work was the first time it became obvious that Harry suspected things were progressing in their relationship. It was almost as entertaining as the morning she’d showed him her ring and then watched as he’d turned a variety of colors before storming off in a swirl of nearly uncontrolled magic. 

And it was a notably better day than the one prior.

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> See you all next Saturday <3


	21. Chapter 21

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Huge thanks to my Alpha/Betas NuclearNik and Monica03, without them I would be a mess and this story would be a disaster. Also a huge thanks to my Omegas (pre-readers) MarshmallowMcGonagall, QuinTalon, and Weestarmeggie!
> 
> To everyone who reads, subscribes, bookmarks, comments/reviews, follows, reblogs, likes, etc: I appreciate you all SO VERY MUCH. With the length of my chapters and the editing process, it leaves little time to come back and interact (I'll still try, however!). I promise though, all of it makes me go starry eyed and flail about every single time.
> 
> Disclaimer: I own nothing.

Hermione arrived at the end of the hallway to their office door bright and early despite having slept so poorly. It’d been a week since she’d stayed with Draco after falling asleep in the library, and she had yet to sleep as well as she did at his house. She’d used some charms to cover up the dark circles before departing home but she wagered that Draco would be able to tell based on how she behaved rather than how she looked. During the last several months he’d come to know her quite well and despite the way he often wore a mask, she’d learned a great deal more about him than she ever thought she would.

She went through the door and froze after closing it behind her, nearly dropping her bag. Draco had laid out a large array of items on his table adjacent to their wall of evidence. It was filled with bowls of different types, herbs, bones, and other things that could only mean divination was soon to be at hand.

Walking over to her desk and setting her things down, she put away their new tea supplies. Afterward, she couldn’t help but examine his supplies more closely, and it was all she could do not to crinkle her nose in distaste.

“Draco…” she started, still eying the supplies from her seat.

He turned his head far enough for her to see him hitch a brow.

“What _ exactly  _ is all of that for?” A mix of trepidation and disapproval she couldn’t repress colored her tone.

“Can you not guess?” He was far too amused, in her opinion. 

It was too early for this bullshit.

Her lips thinned as she watched him fill a rune-covered bowl half-full with water from an ancient pitcher. He sighed when she didn’t answer.

“What else should we do, Hermione?” he said, measuring out different herbs into bowls. “We’ve hit a dead end, and it’s not like either of us to sit and twiddle our thumbs. Divination is strong within the Black line. Seeing things within the Pyromancy realm have always yielded moderate success if you’re not looking for an all-out vision. There are things on Father’s side that should help as well.”

She had nothing to argue against him trying. Hermione was aware Divination was actually quite real, but after experiencing Trelawney, it left her with a foul taste in her mouth and a lack of trust in it. Being in the Hall of Prophecies and meeting the centaurs of the Forbidden Forest had tempered her full-on rejection of it. It could be true that she just wasn’t cut out for it and was too skeptical to trust anything to do with it.

“Don’t you trust me?” He continued grinding his pestle into the mortar without turning.

“Of course I do. With my life.” There’d been no hesitation in her answer. 

It gave her pause afterwards and made her marvel, not for the first time, over the progress between the two of them. The ventilation charm he cast brought her attention back to what he was doing.

Freezing for the briefest moment, he nodded once. “Don’t panic.” 

He struck a match and dropped it into the smallest bowl where the contents of the mortar had just been emptied. They watched as the herbs curled and turned black, releasing curling plumes of smoke.

Draco leaned near it and inhaled, breathing deeply with his eyes closed as he waved his hand through it to waft the smoke closer. As the smoke drifted, the tendrils seemed to momentarily take on their own life, curling around his head and shoulders like snakes before going back to drifting like normal smoke.

Everything seemed fine until he began to twitch. At first, it was barely noticeable but it quickly began to escalate to the point she became concerned that he was having a seizure. He was grasping the edge of the table with white knuckles to keep himself upright by the time she summoned a soft chair behind him. Hermione managed to help lower him into it before he could collapse to the floor. He reached for the bowl that still had smoke billowing from its rim with twitching fingers and, afraid he would drop it or knock other things over in his attempt, Hermione held it for him while he continued to breathe it in until the fire burned out. His fingers circled her wrist, ensuring she didn’t take it away again until he could no longer keep hold of her and his hands fell to his lap.

She sat the bowl back on the table and felt his face, then his pulse. His temperature and heart rate were perfectly normal; the only thing amiss was that it was as if his muscles refused to work anymore and his eyes were glazed like he was drunk out of his head. She speculated that if she lifted his arm by his hand and wiggled it he’d give no response, so she stayed next to the arm of the chair until his hazy eyes drifted to her and held her gaze. As gentle as the brush from a butterfly’s wing, he implanted the thought in her mind.

“Light it?” It made her nervous he’d want to inhale this one as well.

He gave the barest nod. Hermione was a bit hesitant but remembered that she said she trusted him, and so, she lit a match and dropped it in. She slid it directly in front of him as the smoke curled to and fro curiously. Hermione conjured her own chair off to the side and gathered the reports on her desk to read more about the history of the magical locations while he went on what she could only think of as a mental journey. Even with all the fretting, she had the presence of mind to hang the  _ Do Not Disturb _ sign, cast repelling charms on their door, and have a notebook ready for Draco for once he was done. 

It took three hours and two more bowls before the mind-altering inhalants wore off completely. When he’d come back to rights with his motor skills and could articulate, he wrote furiously in the notebook.

Over the next several hours, Draco tried a variety of different things. Water scrying, wine scrying, reading ashes and tea leaves. She was relieved when he didn’t fuss with a crystal ball or anything like that, but she was interested in the notes he’d been scribbling for quite some time now. Finally, he held up an ancient-looking deck of Tarot cards and turned to her.

“For this, we need to see my mother. It’ll have to be at midnight, and we’ll have to conduct an Old Magic ritual. Will you accompany me tonight to Malfoy Manor?” He leaned towards her with bright eyes as he asked.

Old Magic was a subject that was rarely talked about and Hermione’s curiosity on the matter was never sated. It was something the pure-bloods guarded jealously and then were derisive when nobody else knew anything about it. She’d told more than one of them back at Hogwarts that it was easy to trample their traditions when it wasn’t something willingly shared. If she didn’t know she was mucking it up, it was hardly her own fault. Those days had been full of anger and sniping on all sides. 

She stopped dead at his question, her eyes sliding to him to study him a moment. “Are you certain you want me there for that?”

Draco could only stare a moment before nodding once.

“Alright, what time do you want to go?”

“I need to send Mother a note. She’s home for the next few weeks, and I know she won’t mind helping with this specific task. I was thinking we would get there around ten. It’d give us time to set everything up, have some tea, and then proceed with the ritual.” He straightened the items left on the table and cleaned the used bowls with a wave of his wand as he spoke.

After he was finished with his meticulous tidying, he moved to the desk to write the missive. One tap of his wand later and it vanished. She opened her mouth to ask how he did it when a knock came at the door.

Her mouth pursed as she drew her wand before moving the door.

She grasped the knob, quickly turning it and flinging it open, and jammed the end of her weapon under the jaw of the knocker before fully realizing who it was.

“Hermione! It’s just me!” Harry’s head was tilted back, eyes squinched closed.

She yanked her arm back in an instant, looking down at his hands that were full of takeout bags.

Still, she didn’t lower the wand. “How did you get around my repelling charms?”

At that, he rolled his eyes. “Recognized them for what they were and took them down. Common training for Aurors. Malfoy should have told you that.”

Her eyes cut over to her partner before returning to Harry. “He was busy with something when I did it. Must not have noticed.”

She didn’t know how kosher what Draco had done was, so she conveniently left that bit out.

“Are you going to make me stand in the door all day? Lunch is going to get cold soon. You know how shoddy the stasis charms are when placed by the local food places when they’re in a rush,” he said, cocking a brow.

Hermione mentally shook herself and stepped away.

“Yes, of course. Forgive me. Although I didn’t know we were supposed to have lunch together today.” Her brow furrowed as she tried to remember if they’d made a negotiation for a lunch date for today and she’d simply forgotten. It was possible; they’d been consumed by the case lately, but it was also unlikely since Draco had yet to agree to a single swap Harry wanted.

She watched Harry unload the bags and distribute food between the three of them. Draco didn’t look like anything was amiss, taking his container and flipping it open, making sure everything was in order before tucking in. Harry conjured his own chair and both wizards looked at Hermione, waiting for her to take her seat at the desk and eat as if they did this regularly and she was out of step with the program.

She studied them a moment more before sitting and opening her own container to find it full of chicken tikka masala. She poked at it, stirring it with the rice before taking a bite. It was amazing, and she couldn’t help but wonder if Harry had ventured out to Muggle London to her favorite shop. It tasted like she was being buttered up. Hermione licked her lips, wiped her mouth, and set her fork back down. Crossing her arms, she turned to the two wizards and squinted at them. They’d teamed up on her for Merlin knew what reason, and now she was going to find out the truth.

“ _ What’s going on? _ ” She sounded far calmer than she felt.

Harry squashed himself back into his seat, and she barely caught the glare Draco aimed at him before their expressions smoothed back out. It was only an instant, but she’d caught it.

“I’m not sure what you’re talking about, Hermione. Can’t three friends have lunch together?” Harry asked.

She scoffed. “I had to create a schedule and divide out who was having lunch with me on which days. Also, while you’re both moderately friendly at times I highly doubt that whole ‘friends’ bit is actually true. Yet, anyway.” She muttered the last bit.

Draco finally let the scowl take over his face as he stared at Harry.

“You’d have done better, Potter, if you’d been sorted into Slytherin and been adequately taught how to act,” Draco said.

“It’s not like the hat didn’t try,” Harry quipped.

Hermione couldn’t help but laugh at the scandalized look on Draco’s face.

“You mean the Sorting Hat  _ tried _ to put you in the best house and you  _ refused _ ? What is  _ wrong _ with you, Potter?”

Harry merely rolled his eyes and ignored him while Draco set to grumbling to himself as he stabbed his curry.

“Stop trying to distract me,” she said, leveling them with a look.

Draco huffed and leaned back against his chair heavily as he plopped his lunch down on his desk. His eyes were tight as they looked everywhere but her.

So this  _ was _ about her, then. She turned her gaze to Harry, pinning him in place and silently demanding to know.

He sighed and dropped his own container back on the desk, grimacing as some of the rice went scattering out the sides and onto some of her reports. She glared balefully at the mess.

It took him a few minutes, but he found the words he wanted because he finally met her eye. “Someone’s interested in you, Hermione.”

Her brow wrinkled, and she noted how Draco’s jaw clenched, but he said nothing.

“That’s not unusual, Harry. I’ve had fans since the war ended. It wouldn’t be the first time something strange involving one of my… more ardent admirers has been found,” she said carefully.

He huffed. “This isn’t just some random admirer, Hermione. This feels bigger. We’ve gone back over the scenes and expanded the ranges of the areas. We found a few notice-me-not and repelling charms at what looks to have been campsites. Mainly the scene where you nearly died. We found a trove of pictures.” He looked away, anger glimmering in his eyes.

The silence felt thick and charged; it made Hermione’s gut clench unpleasantly.

“What were the pictures of, Harry?” she asked.

“You.” He seemed reluctant in his answer, his fists clenching tightly in his lap.

“Yes, Harry, I gathered that. What am I doing in them? Where am I?” She began twisting the napkin in her lap to the point of tearing it.

“Hermione, if I show you—” He started, his head jerking up at her sudden movement.

She’d risen from her chair before she could think.  _ If?  _ Oh, no, there was going to be none of that.

“Harry James Potter, there is no  _ if _ in this situation.” She prowled around the desk, heartbeat thrumming in her ears.

Harry shot to his feet and made for the door, but a spell flew past his head and sealed it shut before he could wrench it open. He whirled to face her, pulling out his own wand. Hermione didn’t think he would duel her in such tight quarters, but she’d seen him do stupider things.

“Expelliarmus!” he yelled. He grinned as she squawked with rage as her wand went end over end through the air to land in his grip.

Magic crackled in the space between them as she stood frozen, furious. He must’ve realized, too late, that it wasn’t a good idea to do that to her anymore as he looked past her with wide eyes. 

Hermione growled low in her throat and launched herself at him, viciously gripping his Auror robes nearly to the point of ripping before she jolted him against the door. She snarled and made to repeat the motion when she was picked up bodily from behind by Draco, her eyes going wide as she was pulled off of him.

“Put me DOWN this instant!” she screeched, struggling in his grip.

He pulled her flush against him, grunting as she started throwing elbows, and he readjusted his grip to wrangle her arms within his hold. She didn’t want to hurt him, just get free, else she’d be stomping his feet or bringing her foot back on one of his knees. Harry moved away from the door, and her eyes locked on him like a homing missile. He froze only for a moment before continuing over to her desk where he set her wand in plain view next to her lunch. Draco whispered in her ear and stroked along her arm with his thumb. At the sight of her wand, she began to visibly calm until she relaxed in Draco’s grip.

Harry had reclaimed his seat, and she could see him watching them from the corner of his eye. Draco probably wouldn’t notice that Harry was biting the inside of his lip, but she could always tell. Harry had largely ignored their hers and Draco’s physical interactions outside of work when they’d had dinner or drinks with him and Ginny. She knew he wasn’t happy about it, but he knew better than to say the first word against any of it. Hermione wasn’t above kissing Draco or sitting in his lap in front of Harry and they both knew it.

Draco guided her back around the side-by-side desks and spun her to face him, looking in her eyes to check that she was indeed calm and that it wasn’t a moment of trickery. She allowed him to guide her back into her chair and watched as he reclaimed his own. Snatching her wand from the desk, her eyes cut to the side to watch Harry who was carefully staring at her. When no other outburst occurred, he started the conversation again.

“Hermione,” he said, waiting for her to meet his gaze, “ _ when _ I show you these pictures, you have to promise you won’t try to take care of this on your own. You’ll allow us to help you,  _ and _ you’ll accept backup in all situations.”

The silence stretched long enough to cause the two men to exchange a glance before she let out a long-suffering sigh.

“Fine. I promise,” she ground out. She stared down into her lap as her fingers curled into tight fists. 

She shifted over in her chair to lean on the arm, thinking about how Harry and Ron were the compulsive ones. There was no reason to have to make the stupid promise to begin with.

Draco rolled over until their arms were pressed together and waited until she met his gaze.

“Promise  _ me _ , Hermione.”

She clenched her eyes shut. “Fine, Draco. I  _ promise _ that I won’t do any of those rash things that Harry and Ron are famously known for in regards to this situation. I won’t go vigilante, and I won’t get into anything without backup.”

She still felt resentful and hurt, but not as much as when she’d been dealing with Harry. It was hard to remember sometimes that Draco didn’t really know what lengths she would go to with the issues she’d gained coming out of the war. He also didn’t know, like Harry and Ron, what she’d normally do either. He obviously had his own theories since he was extracting a promise too.

Draco rolled away, but not far and turned his attention to Harry. She schooled herself into calmness and turned her attention back to him as well.

He removed a wide envelope from his robes and enlarged it to its regular size. Hermione could tell that it was stuffed, and her eyes locked onto it. He lay it on her desk and pushed it towards her, watching as it slid out of his reach. His fingers twitched before he folded them in his lap. She could tell what he was thinking and quickly pulled it well out of his reach, snatching her wand back and stowing it in her sleeve in the process. Her lunch was closed back up and hidden in a drawer for safekeeping after she renewed the stasis charm on it to keep it warm; there were currently more important things to think about aside from food.

Opening the envelope, she carefully shook it until the photos came sliding out in a heap. She began spreading them out before she really was able to see what they contained.

They were all of her. Each and every last one. Pictures of her walking down Diagon Alley, shopping in Flourish and Blotts, a close up of her at Fortescue’s. The one that sent her heart into confusion over whether to stop altogether or slam furiously in her ribs was one of her and Draco on one of their lunch dates. It was a close-up and looked like the photographer was directly on the other side of the glass from their table. They were at one of their favorite sandwich shops, and she’d just looked down to select a crisp when Draco looked at her with open hunger for a moment before his mask slid back into place in perfect time for her to look back up at him. 

It was exceptionally obvious he found her attractive. She could feel the burn of his eyes when she wasn’t looking but rarely ever  _ actually _ caught him. Secretly, she longed for the day he’d look at her like that openly, and she bit her lip at the idea of it. She wanted it now but it was one of those things that was worth waiting for. She’d known going into it that he was raised to be quite conservative, so when she wanted more than she thought he’d be comfortable with, she merely reminded herself that all good things came to those who waited. He was worth investing the time in.

She looked up at Harry. “These are public, you are aware of that right? They could be the stolen collection from a press photographer. Or a collection that’s been filched over time from one or many photographers.”

He shook his head, crossing his legs and looking away. “Keep going, Hermione.”

So she did, and the further down the pile she got, the more her stomach clenched.

There was a picture of her tending the plants in her greenhouse. One of her napping on her back porch. A dark picture that must’ve been taken in the middle of the night from outside her kitchen window. She was in a thin tank top and panties, not that the picture showed it, but she remembered that night. It was only a couple weeks ago and while the dreams of her falling had dropped off, they hadn’t stopped entirely. When she ended up having one it was so hard to get back to sleep she usually didn’t even try. Draco had been able to get her back to sleep easily, but without him there it just wasn’t going to happen. She would, however, go to the kitchen and make a cup of tea to wash down a calming draught down with before lying in bed until it was time to go to work.

There were pictures left to examine but she wasn’t sure she could bring herself to look at them. She leaned back in her chair, her hands dropping to her lap from the desk as her mind raced. Her house was supposed to be safe. She locked the doors out of habit but if this person could get through her wards, well, then getting into her house where she bathed and slept and did intimate things would be a snap, and it could be done absolutely silently thanks to magic.

It wasn’t enough to go through Hogwarts fighting to be at the top of her year while keeping Harry and Ron out of trouble, and keep them passing classes,  _ and  _ just flat out keeping Harry alive most years. It also included Umbridge, Grawp, The Battle at the Department of Mysteries, riding thestrals to London, Dementors, being chased by a werewolf, a Basilisk, and the many other forms and reaches of Voldemort. Like the entirety of the events of Sixth Year. It wasn’t enough to have to go on the run because of the Death Eaters crashing Bill and Fleur’s party. It wasn’t enough having to spend months and months in a tent with barely any food, the ever-present cold, and constantly having to wear that damn Horcrux until they finally were able to destroy it.  _ Then _ , she was tortured repeatedly by one of the most evil women she’d ever encountered in front of the man she was now dating, not to mention she’d had a chandelier dropped onto her afterwards.  _ Then _ they’d had to break into a bank, get backstabbed by Griphook, break out on a dragon and ride it into the countryside before jumping off of it.  _ And then _ , the Battle of Hogwarts had happened. Now?  _ Now _ she had a Stalker, capital S.  _ Now _ — 

A pair of strong, cool hands cupping her face cut off her raving thoughts as they spun out of control. Somewhere in the back of her mind, she realized that if his hands felt cool, her face must be a furnace. The thought flittered away as those hands turned her to look at him. His forehead and eyes were crinkled as he studied her, then she noticed his mouth was moving. Eventually, the ringing in her ears subsided as he stroked her cheeks with his thumbs. The cool metal of his thumb ring grounded her, and she was able to focus more on what was coming out of his mouth.

“Come back to me. I’ve got you; you’re safe with me. I won’t let anything happen to you,” he murmured over and over until finally a sob ripped its way up out of her chest and she crumpled under the new weight that had been dropped onto her shoulders.

Before, she’d had years to grow and adapt to the threats Voldemort and his followers posed but now, she had no idea how dangerous this person was or even an idea of  _ who _ it was. It was overwhelming, and it made her want to get her beaded bag and her wand and flee. Even if it meant Apparating every morning to a new location. It seemed the most sensible thing at the moment anyway. She had all the supplies and the knowledge. All she had to do was get out, and she could be good as gone. Nobody would ever see her again, and she’d never have to put up with bullshit like this. It was all too much. She thought she’d be able to handle it, but after seeing the evidence something inside her seemed to fracture. The proverbial straw had fallen on the camel’s back.

Her mind quieted as she felt herself be shifted from her chair and into Draco’s lap. The reliable hands that had been on her face were now running up and down her back as he tucked her underneath his chin. The impulse to run gradually died off as she listened to his steady heartbeat under her ear. Her internal compass was pointing true north again when moments ago it had been doing its best imitation of a spinning top.

Clearly that bit had to do with Draco but she still had no idea why. It was like the answer was dancing just out of her grasp.

“What are you thinking about?” he asked when her fury-induced tears slowed to nothing and her hysteria at the situation died down to a manageable level.

She sighed. “About how nice it would be to burn my house down, take my beaded bag, and Apparate to a new place every day for the rest of my life so nobody would ever be able to find me and do anything like this again. No more stalkers, no more Dark Lords, no more Umbridges…” She grumbled the last bit as she squished her cheek against his chest in displeasure.

“Your promise!” he said, tensing.

“—is only one of three things keeping me here,” she said. She closed her eyes and sagged against him as a wave of exhaustion rolled over her.

She kept waiting for him to ask what the other two things were and wondered if he thought Harry and Ron were the answers. He kept quiet, however, and she didn’t feel like explaining herself in the moment.

Their lunch hour had sucked the life out of her. All she wanted to do now was go curl up somewhere and sleep or drink herself into a stupor. Either one was acceptable at this point. However, there was a case to work on and now the stalker to deal with.

“We’re going home,” Draco said as he scooped her into his arms.

“We have work to do.” 

Draco was having no part of that idea. He’d already summoned all of their things and shrank them all to fit in a pillbox disguised as a watch. It clicked itself shut and zoomed back into his pocket with a flick of his wand.

“Granger, I’m not sure what you think you’re going to accomplish after taking a Bludger to your emotional and mental faculties. We’re going home—” He was interrupted by her earnest struggle to be put down.

“I’m not going back there. I’m not sure where I’ll go, but it won’t be back to the place I once considered to be a safe haven. My house is no longer a home,” she said, voice cracking as she tried to wriggle out of his arms like Crookshanks used to do with her when she went to stuff him in his traveling basket.

“I was referring to  _ my  _ home, barmy bint. I’d never take you back to that place unless specifically requested,” he said as he regained a tight grip on her.

“But—”

“No buts.” They finally reached the door.

Harry removed the sealing charm she’d hit it with earlier and opened it. Draco walked to the departmental Floo with his usual unfussed swagger as if carrying her around was a normal, everyday occurrence. Harry tossed in the Floo powder and they were gone, back to Appledale. Draco stood off to the side of the fireplace until Harry had made it through before he looked at Hermione.

“If I set you down are you going to try to run off?” he asked, brow cocked.

She shook her head, and he put her back on her own two feet. Draco wasted no time in leading them to the living room where he poured them a round as they took up residence on the couch. Hermione sat closest to his chair as Harry collapsed on the other end and rubbed his face. Once drinks were dispensed, Draco took his usual seat.

“So, what do we do now?” Hermione asked.

“Well, first thing, I don’t think you should stay at your own house anymore,” Harry said.

“Obviously, Potter,” Draco said, nose wrinkling.

“And I think you should remain on the case. We’ll start a rotation for someone to stay there under the guise of Polyjuice, if you’re okay with it, just to make it look like you’re still actually living there. That way you just seem annoyed rather than threatened enough to leave. Also, no more going off to past crime scenes on your own, even if it’s just a few minutes to double-check a theory. That’s protocol but I know you’ve snuck out there on your own more than once recently,” Harry said, his voice turning stern at the end.

Hermione drained her glass, set it down with a clunk, and crossed her arms as she glared at him.

“I seem to remember you stepping out of bounds about a thousand times both at Hogwarts and during cases, Harry James Potter. Who are you to lecture me on breaking protocol? Especially when I’m there for mere minutes,” she demanded.

There was no real desire to continue going anywhere alone, not after the last two incidents, but the idea of being forbidden to do something infuriated her. There was already so much being taken from her. The least Harry could do was trust her not to behave like him and Ron.

Harry turned and scooted over on the couch until he was next to her. He pried her hands out of her lap and held them both firmly, staring into her eyes. “Your best friend, Hermione, who wouldn’t be able to live with himself if anything happened to you. This is serious! We don’t know who it is but if they could get through  _ your _ wards undetected I’m not taking any chances, no matter how angry you get. Limiting access to you is required as well. You’ll have to cut down on your outings to both Muggle London and Diagon Alley as much as possible. No more than once a week, if that.”

“No can do, Potter. Exposure therapy will be ongoing for a few more years before either of us can think about reducing it more than twice a week,” Draco said.

“What do you usually do?” Harry asked.

“If you must know, we go to lunch and then do a bit of light shopping since we’re already in Diagon Alley. Usually Flourish and Blotts, the Apothecary, and the like. Simple quick trips.” Draco seemed reluctant to divulge even that, parting with as little information as possible.

It was obvious that Draco didn’t like sharing the information with others, even in vague details. It made her think of a dragon jealously guarding its valuables, except what was valuable here was their time together. It made warmth bloom in her chest and the corner of her mouth twitch into the faintest grin.

“Well, as long as she’s with you it should be alright, but Hermione? No more Wednesday jaunts alone. If you’re not with Draco or me, you need an Auror with you.” It was obvious that it wasn’t something he was going to budge on no matter how big of a fit she pitched, and really, aside from Wednesdays she never went alone anywhere anymore anyway, so she shrugged her acquiescence.

“Anyone but Finch-Fletchly,” Draco intoned darkly, and Hermione silently agreed.

When there were no arguments Harry continued on. “No risky behavior. Just keep your head down and your eyes open. Constant vigilance.”

Just the phrase alone made Draco sneer. Anything that brought back reminders of having been transfigured and smashed around rankled, she’d found. His gaze was glued to Harry as if he were waiting for the other man to say something that would justify a fight.

Harry opened his mouth, likely to deliver the provocation, but a sharp jab to the ribs from Hermione dislodged that notion and he let the moment go, looking like he’d just sucked a lemon wedge. She could already tell there was going to be many moments like this, but right now she didn’t have it in her to deal with letting the two of them go at each other. One day perhaps, but not this one.

“So, now what?” Hermione asked.

“Now we go and get the things you’ll need until you can resume living there. Once we leave there today, there’s no going back until it’s over. Someone will be in continual rotation, staying at your house for a week at a time and mimicking your work schedule to throw the stalker off. You’ll need to adjust the wards to recognize them,” Harry said.

“Can’t this wait until tomorrow, Potter? She’s had a long enough day as it is, and we still have some things to do before our day is done.” Draco caught her wrist before Hermione could drag herself to her feet.

“’Fraid not. They want to start their first day tomorrow and Hermione needs to be gone by today so it can be seamless.” Harry cast an apologetic look at her.

“We’re taking the rest of the week off then after we finish up tonight,” Draco grumbled, hauling himself up and offering her a hand.

Her eyebrows furrowed and before she realized she’d taken it, she was standing with her small hand ensconced in his much larger one.

“But our case—”

“Can wait.” Both wizards said at the same time, cutting her off before glaring at the other.

She let Draco lead her to the fireplace, where they traveled to her sitting room in a whoosh of green flames. From there, she shut down her emotions, promising herself that she would allow herself to think about it tonight in the shower. The first step was her closet, where she pulled out several large leather tote bags with wide openings. Harry stayed in the living room to claim plausible deniability to the undetectable extension charms she placed on them. Draco had no such qualms and sat on her bed as she worked. 

Duplicating all of her clothing for Auror use, she stuffed all the originals in one tote, leaving nothing behind. Toiletries were sealed up and packed in next. Then her favorite books, and all of her photos replicated and packed away. All of her important and delicate things went into the last bag. She’d seen too many stalker situations that resulted in the theft of personal items or a home being destroyed either physically or emotionally for the person. In the event that she couldn’t bring herself to come back, she wanted to be prepared. Harry and Draco had already exchanged what they thought was a covert look when she’d moved back to the sitting room to collect things from her desk, but she caught it. She couldn’t bring herself to care that she’d been triggered by the whole thing and the only way to placate it was to feed the preparedness need, so that’s what she did.

When she was finished and looked at the pile of bags, her heart rose in her throat again, and she desperately wished she was normal. That she could just pack some clothes and a few things and be able to leave without a production like this. Familiar arms enveloped her and pulled her into a tight hug, and she allowed herself just a moment to relax into him.

The moment was cut short when a crash sounded from her back porch. Harry and Draco looked to one another before scrambling for the back door, wands out. Someone thundered off the back steps and into the yard, the crack of Apparition sounding from just beyond the fence line where her wards ended.

They froze once they got outside, looking around, but before either could leave the covered porch, she stopped them and pointed to the footprints.

“I’m going to preserve them first for evidence,” she said before waving her wand. Two of the prints scooped themselves out of the earth in a perfect block and zoomed into a crate Hermione had conjured before it vanished to their office evidence locker.

She wished she’d bought that fingerprinting kit she’d been thinking about a few weeks prior but shrugged it off, not wanting to add that to the tottering pile already looming large in her mind.

Once done, she watched Harry go investigate the area. Draco stood on high alert but refused to leave her side. She repaired the planter that had been the source of the racket to give herself a momentary diversion. When Harry came back empty-handed, they returned to the living room where Hermione shrank her bags and took one last look around the place that was supposed to be her sanctuary. She had the sinking feeling she’d never feel safe in it again, regardless of what happened. 

Draco led her back to his home and watched as Harry sealed off the Floo connection between the two places. It seemed so final in a way, and her shoulders drooped.

“I’m going to run you a bath. You’ve had a long day, and you should relax for a while before we go to the Manor,” Draco said. He headed off towards the bedroom that was once again hers, now for an indeterminable amount of time.

Harry watched until he was out of sight before his head whipped around to stare at Hermione with narrowed eyes. “Are you really going to let him handle you like that?”

Her brow scrunched as she studied him a minute. “He’s just looking after me Harry, which I’m grateful for. He’s right though. This has been the longest day, and it’s not even remotely close to being finished yet. Quite honestly a bath sounds pretty perfect. If I didn’t want it, I wouldn’t accept it. Or have you forgotten that about me?”

Harry froze, statue still, before taking a deep breath and releasing it slowly through his nose. He gathered her hands in his. “No, I haven’t forgotten. I’m just not used to seeing you how you are with him. I’m still protective of you, Hermione. You’re like the sister I never had and all of this, quite frankly, is strange for me; I’m still adapting. Malfoy being kind, considerate...  _ protective _ , isn’t something I’m used to. He’s different than he was in school, that much is obvious, but he’s still a prat most of the time regardless of how good he is at his job. We’re not exactly friends yet, but we’ve gone to the pub a few times together after I saw that the two of you weren’t going to be this explosive whirlwind thing that died as quickly as it started. It’s a process, befriending him.”

She understood what he wasn’t saying. That he loved her enough to work to become friends with his former arch-nemesis, despite how Draco was still often surly and aloof with almost everyone but her— a veritable ice prince. It’s not like it would hurt to have Harry’s friendship if the two of them didn’t work out. She shook off the pang that shot through her, like she’d been struck in the gut with an arrow at the thought.

“I have to go alert the Auror department and file a report about what happened at your house. I’ll see you soon.” He gathered her to him for a familial hug, and she squeezed him tight.

“Be safe, Harry, please,” she said as she let him go.

He grinned and winked at her before disappearing back to the traveling room.

Seconds later Draco came back through, stopping next to her as he took a deep breath. He held it for a moment before letting it out quietly. She didn’t know what to make of it but snagged his hand and brought it to her lips. She kissed along the backs of each of his fingers, glancing up to watch him watching her with hooded eyes, the tiniest quirk curling the corner of his mouth. He took advantage of the hold she had on him and pulled her close against him, folding her in his arms as he nuzzled his head against the top of hers.

“Thank you for taking care of me,” she whispered. It was still very foreign, being looked after, but she was trying.

“Don’t thank me for doing something I want to do. You deserve it.”

She pressed tighter against him, small hands clinging to his waistcoat.

“Go have a bath, I’ll bring you some wine.” He kissed her temple before nudging her towards her bedroom.

He seemed more relaxed when she finally pried her fingers from his clothes and padded off to her rooms. She snagged the set of pajamas and a robe that had been laid out at the end of the bed before entering the bathroom. 

The lights were dimmed and there were honeysuckle scented bubbles piled high in the tub. She stripped her clothes off, tossing them in a nearby basket before testing the water. It was almost too hot, which was perfect. She got in and sank back against the wall of the tub until water lapped at her collarbones, and she was hidden from view by mounds of fluff.

Her body relaxed as she tried to shift her mind to less stressful topics, like the fact that she was going to be sleeping in the best pajamas, in the best bed that had the best pillows she’d ever had the pleasure of sleeping in. She’d have company and would feel safe in her environment. She meandered along in her mind until Bumble came to the edge of the tub with half a glass of white wine for her.

“I thought Draco was coming?”

“I can ask for you, Miss,” Bee offered as she came through the door with a stack of towels that towered well over the elf’s head.

“If it wouldn’t be too much trouble…” 

Bee sighed as she put away the towels in a closet, then snapped her fingers and disappeared.

Moments later, Bee reappeared with Draco at her side, his hand clamped over his eyes.

“Bee said you wanted me.”

“Yes, you said you’d be bringing me some wine. I thought that meant you were going to keep me company,” she said before taking a sip.

“It would be improper of me to invade your bathing area regardless of how much I want to be near you.”

“But you can’t see anything.” 

“I feel like I’m intruding on your privacy.” 

“Please, Draco. I don’t want to be alone,” she said in a small voice.

He pressed his lips together as he thought, and she held her breath. Bee must have taken a cue she’d missed because she led him forward until he got to the tub. He sat next to it, becoming visible from only the bridge of his nose up. She leaned against that side of the tub until they were eye to eye.

“Open your eyes,” she whispered.

Slowly, he cracked one open and visibly relaxed when he was only able to see as much of her as she was of him. “Hi.”

“Hi. Thank you for coming in here for me. I know you must be uncomfortable.” A sliver of guilt wound around her gut for being so selfish.

“None of that. This is your private space, and I didn’t want to intrude. Besides, I don’t particularly like the idea of you being out of my sight at all right now anyway.” 

“Same. I feel like I’ve walked right into the last two traps that were laid.” She shuddered despite the steam coming off the surface of the water.

“I won’t let anything happen to you.” His grey eyes seemed to glow silver in the dimness with his ferocity.

“I trust you.”

They talked for a while on more pleasant topics until the water grew tepid. Then Draco clenched his eyes closed, and Bee led him back out of the room without a backwards glance.

Hermione cast a warming charm to reheat the water and scrubbed herself until she was pink. When she finally felt clean again, she cast the charms that kept her skin smooth and hair-free in all the right places. Then she drained the tub, moisturized, and slipped into the lounge clothes, stopping off in the bedroom to put on her slippers. She padded back to the living room to find him on the couch, arm resting along the back of it as if waiting on her.

The thought evaporated as she moved to join him. She sat close and leaned into him, nuzzling her head into position on his shoulder. He slid his arm around her waist and held her close; he was so warm and she felt far more settled inside as she rested against him. It was wonderful, like the bath. 

“Sleep,” he murmured, “I’ll wake you when it’s time to get ready to go.”

She barely noticed the open book on his lap before her eyes drifted closed, and she fell sound asleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> See you all next Saturday! <3


	22. Chapter 22

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Huge thanks to my Alpha/Betas NuclearNik and Monica03, without them I would be a mess and this story would be a disaster. Also a huge thanks to my Omegas (pre-readers) MarshmallowMcGonagall, QuinTalon, and Weestarmeggie!
> 
> To everyone who reads, subscribes, bookmarks, comments/reviews, follows, reblogs, likes, etc: I appreciate you all SO VERY MUCH. With the length of my chapters and the editing process, it leaves little time to come back and interact (I'll still try, however!). I promise though, all of it makes me go starry eyed and flail about every single time.
> 
> I'm SO EXCITED to share the commission Nikita did for me for my upcoming birthday! It's the scene from chapter 4 where he shows her how to cover her scar if she so wished. I am SO IN LOVE with it. <3<3<3
> 
> Disclaimer: I own nothing.

<https://nikitajobson.tumblr.com/post/619111770949337088/choices-by-midnightvalkyrie-the-choices-you-make>

* * *

Draco and Hermione arrived at the Manor promptly at eleven to find Narcissa waiting for them in the traveling room. After they’d shucked their cloaks and hung them on hooks, they followed her to the easternmost drawing-room. Draco got Hermione settled in a tall, leather wingback chair with a cup of tea; she discovered on her first sip that he’d fortified it with a bit of something extra. 

In the center of the room, Draco drew symbols on the floor with his wand in a wide, perfect circle around an ancient table as Narcissa prepared different bowls of what she called “offerings.” Two were herbs to be burned, one contained bread, one was empty still, but the last one contained a dark, viscous fluid and other things she didn’t examine too closely.

When Draco finished, he helped his mother collect the bowls and place them at equidistant points just inside the circle. Narcissa collected a trunk that looked at least as old as the table from one side of the room and levitated it over. From there they took out a wide table runner with runes embroidered in silver all along the edges, placing it just so in the center of the table. Next came candles, another bowl with a bundle of herbs wrapped around something she couldn’t make out, and a small, ornate wooden box that Narcissa pulled out of the trunk. She brought it over to Hermione and set it on the table between them as she sat down.

“What we’re doing is invoking clarity and understanding for our reading. The circle Draco drew on the floor creates a focal point. The two bowls of herbs are specific: one blend for clarity, the other for understanding. Then there’s a bowl of bread, a bowl with meat, and a bowl for wine, which Draco will pour in about half an hour when we get closer to time. You cannot ask for something without giving something in return.” To this Hermione nodded; it made perfect sense. “Then after our request has been fulfilled, we’ll do the reading. This deck is one that’s been handed down the line in my family for generations. When I married Lucius, we blended our decks as a symbol of the merger of the two dynasties. One stays here for our use and one stays in my vault at Gringotts. When Draco gets married, he will inherit the unused deck, and when I pass, this one will go to him too but he will put it away for his own child.” 

“Why doesn’t just one deck get passed and one remain in reserve in case something happens to the first?” Hermione asked.

“Well, when you blend a deck like we did, they’re delicate. The magic takes time to redistribute and fuse itself back together because each deck contains some of the magic from the entirety of our lineages. Blending decks can be risky, like making a delicate and volatile potion. So it's best if only one user—or set of users if they're married— handles them at a time for at least a generation, if not two. It gives the deck an appropriate amount of time to settle itself between users."

Hermione nodded again and let her eyes wander over the ornamental box. “That’s amazing.”

She felt warm hands resting on her shoulders, and she looked up with a soft smile.

“Bit different than what that old Trelawney bat spewed at Hogwarts?” A hint of a smirk quirked Draco’s lips.

“That old drunk is an actual Seer, strange as it may seem, but she doesn’t have the ability to pull Sight at will. That’s how it is for some people,” Narcissa explained. “I’d wager she’d see a whole lot more if she stuck with what was inherent to her and taught everything else as knowledge-based instead of experienced-based with that gauche drama she coats everything in. Trying to force Sight will only push it further away. Seeing has been in both the Malfoy and the Black lines for over five hundred years. The Blacks had an affinity for Scrying while the Malfoys were more prone to Tarot. The Dark Lord was hoping to use Lucius as his own private Seer, but the gift is more of a recessive trait in his line and it had decided to skip two generations. Did Draco tell you he can do both?” Narcissa cast a proud look at her only child. 

Hermione shook her head. “No, but before now I’ve never had any appreciation for or interest in it. It all seemed too wooly and unbelievable. I imagine it would be the same feeling that you would get if you were to go watch a Muggle magician. All fakeness and theater.” 

She knew it would take more than one instance of exposure for her to gain actual appreciation for the topic, but now that she’d seen a much more real approach to it, she could feel the seedling interest beginning to grow in earnest.

“I hope we can help you see the art for what it really is then,” Narcissa said.

“That would be lovely.” Hermione smiled at her. 

She felt warm when Draco squeezed her shoulders appreciatively.

Mippy brought a tray of refreshments to go with the refilled teapot, of which Draco grazed from as he sipped his tea. Hermione was too busy listening, leaning forward in her seat as Narcissa talked about the different ways one can invoke the magic of the elements and of the earth to combine with spellwork along with things like events on the solstices and equinoxes, Samhain, and Beltane. 

It was so fascinating, but a thought itched at the back of her mind. “Why isn’t any of this taught at Hogwarts?”

Draco tensed in that slight way that would only be caught if one knew him, and her eyes slid from him to Narcissa.

“Well, many of the Old Magics involve shades of gray. This particular ritual involves blood magic, which is forbidden at Hogwarts outside of Defense lessons and what literature they do have there is confined to the Restricted section. Granted, many rituals and older magics have been exploited by Dark witches and wizards and it’s tainted things a great deal.” Narcissa paused to take a dainty sip of tea. “Many Muggle-borns and half-bloods have been victims from the outcomes of these rituals, so it’s also tainted their views on them as well. It’s often rejected by most except for those who think of magic like most pure-blooded families do, as well as those who are academically minded.”

Hermione nodded. “It proves to be a difficult topic if you can’t look at it objectively. Most spells can be used for ill or good and really, it should be portrayed that way. So many miss out on an incredible facet of magic because it’s been abused; that’s a shame. I’ve found this evening to be an amazing experience so far and it saddens me that had I not started seeing Draco, I probably wouldn’t have learned about it any time soon, if ever. Surely there’s some way to mend the situation,” she said as she cradled her cup in her hands.

She saw Draco relax again, which he covered up by crossing his legs at the knee. “If anyone out there can figure it out, Granger, it’ll be you.” He shot her a wink.

Her incisor dented her lower lip as she bit it, a flush lighting up her cheeks that he would flirt so openly in front of his mother; the very mother who was watching him with a secret grin hidden behind her teacup.

“We’ll see what I can do after I’ve been further instructed myself.” She smiled demurely.

“Between Mother and I that will be taken care of.”

“So shall it be,” Hermione said. 

The air seemed to shift as they both parroted it back to her and it was as if a pact had just formed. It felt right in an inexplicable way.

Narcissa looked at the delicate timepiece on her wrist and drained the rest of her cup with Draco following suit.

“Just stay here and relax dear,” Narcissa requested as she picked up the box of Tarot cards.

Hermione took that to mean not to leave her chair, but she could see the wisdom in it. She had no idea what would happen, and she _did_ have moments of self-preservation even if Draco didn’t believe it.

He filled the bowl with wine from the outside of the circle then joined his mother at the edge. They linked hands and stepped as one into the circle, going to their respective seats and not stopping until they had sat.

They unlinked their hands, and Narcissa began to tap the table with her index finger, setting a beat and starting to chant in a language Hermione couldn’t place. When she started at the beginning again, Draco joined in, tapping his foot against the hardwood floor to match the rhythm. While their volume didn’t increase, the intensity did to the point where the air felt thick and hard to breathe until suddenly, they both stopped. The silence was deafening except for the excited thrumming of Hermione’s heart behind her ribs.

Draco finally ran his hand over the bowl of herbs on the table, setting it aflame, and as he did, the other bowls lit up in blue fire. From the opened windows, a light breeze rustled the drapes, and as the fires burned, Hermione could feel the swell of magic in the room, circling mother and son until they were the eye of a hurricane of magical energy. Suddenly, as if the currents of magic were wind, the fires all disappeared and the magic settled into a calm, relaxed fog. It was then that the two within the circle began to move.

Narcissa opened the box of cards, shuffled thrice, and fanned them out. Draco selected three and she put them face down in the order he chose them in then put the deck to the side.

“The past.” Narcissa flipped the first card over. “Ten of Wands. It represents accomplishment, burdens, and responsibility.”

Draco said nothing but studied the card as if he’d never seen it before and was memorizing it as well as the meaning.

“The present.” Narcissa flipped the middle card over. “Ten of Pentacles. It represents legacy, culmination, and inheritance.”

A pensive look stole across his features for a moment before it was gone.

“The future.” She flipped the final card over. “Six of Wands. It represents victory and success.”

While that may have sounded good, Draco didn’t seem convinced and neither was Hermione. It was _neve_ r that simple. Victory and success for _who_ , exactly?

“We shall do one more,” Narcissa announced before sweeping the cards back into the deck at random and shuffling thrice again. She fanned the cards out and again, Draco selected three of them, and she put them down in a row in the order he picked. The rest of the cards were returned to their box.

“The past.” She flipped the first card over. “The Tower. It represents sudden upheaval, broken pride, and disaster.”

Draco paled at the card and his fingers twitched as if he wanted to clench them into fists. It was no secret that it was the card Trelawney kept coming across the night he let Death Eaters into Hogwarts, and Hermione itched to comfort him. He took a moment to re-center himself and let out a slow breath before focusing back on his mother. Narcissa continued as if he’d never paused.

“The present.” She flipped the middle card over. “Five of Wands. It represents competition, rivalry, and conflict.”

He squinted at the card, and Hermione burned with the desire to know what he was thinking.

“The future.” She flipped over the last card. “The Hanged Man. It represents sacrifice and martyrdom.”

His eyes shot to her for the first time, and she could tell he wanted to storm over to her but couldn’t yet. He did, however, stare at her with enough intensity to light the room on fire.

The magic in the room swirled once again into a hurricane before the candles on the table blew out and the energy dispersed again as if it had vanished back out into the night like a visiting guest.

After his mother scooped up the final cards and placed them back into their box with the others, they went in exact reverse of setting the room up, ending with Draco vanishing the markings on the floor one by one.

He stormed over to her as soon as he could and pulled her into his arms, crushing her to him. She felt the very faint tremor of his hands and clutched his waistcoat.

“ _Swear_ to me, Hermione, that you will not entertain your Gryffindor recklessness at any point until this whole investigation is over.”

“Draco—”

“ _Swear it_.” There was an edge to his voice that hadn’t been there since she tried using the stairs while her neck was still broken.

“I swear I will keep myself safe, and I won’t jump headlong into anything without you.” She slid her arms around his waist and squeezed.

That seemed to calm him down a fraction. Not enough to make him let her go, but enough to stop the faint trembling in his fingers.

She had to admit that he knew her well. She’d refused to break under the torture of Bellatrix Lestrange’s wand or cursed knife. He knew she would do whatever it took to do the right thing, to fix the problem, to conquer the foe, to save the world _unless_ someone thought to put something in her way—like an extracted promise.

“Draco dear, I’m going to bed. These are always so taxing for me, so I’ll see you two later. Hermione, it was a pleasure. I look forward to discussing more with you. Goodnight, dears.” Narcissa gave them a parting smile before heading to the door.

“Thank you again for having me. Goodnight!” Hermione called. It would have been superfluous to say that she looked forward to further conversation; all three of them knew she would soak it up like a sponge.

“Goodnight, Mother.”

Draco looked around the room, his eyes lighting on the chest for a few moments before they returned to her. “Let’s go home, yeah?”

She nodded. While tonight had been intriguing, thrilling, and a bit ominous, she was ready to end the day.

He led her back to the traveling room, and they crossed over in a flash of green fire directly into the sitting room. He spelled them clean before gesturing to the couch. “I’ll go get us a drink, I’ll be right back.”

He hesitated before letting her go and gave her a lingering kiss on the forehead before finally departing towards the kitchen.

He could’ve had an elf do it but she had a feeling he wanted to calm himself back down in private a minute, and she couldn’t blame him. Draco didn’t wear his heart on his sleeve. She may have seen more than most people did but he was still very reserved.

She made her way to the couch and sat on the center cushion, letting her mind wander over the events of the night. She made mental notes to pick up notebooks and other supplies soon for her upcoming lessons. There was also her order from Flourish and Blotts to pick up, as well as her new DMLE robes from Madam Malkin’s.

A glass of wine came into her vision, and she blinked before taking it from his fingers, taking a long, slow sip.

“Thank you.” She watched him sit down in the corner.

She studied him for a moment, and for the most part, he seemed back to normal. He must have sorted whatever it was that had him all riled up, at least for the moment. He took a thoughtful sip of wine before his eyes cut over to her.

“We’re going to have to do at least one more reading before we can really start exploring what the spreads tonight mean.” He reached over and tugged on her belt loop.

She slid over until she was tucked against his side. “Do you have any thoughts as to what any of that meant tonight?” 

He wobbled his head back and forth. “I have a few theories, but I need to think about them a bit more before I throw anything out there.”

Hermione nodded; she’d been there herself more than once.

“Has your opinion changed at all on the subject?” His brows were set high over silvery eyes.

“It certainly seems like something worth looking into now. I don’t trust it like you and your mother apparently do, but I don’t outright think it’s exactly a bunch of rubbish anymore. I’d like to think I’ve learned my lesson with the resurrection stone.” She muttered the last bit.

“How do you know about that?”

“Because it was once a Horcrux and Dumbledore left it to Harry in the very first Snitch he ever caught. He said that it and the cloak were how he got through everything undetected to get to Voldemort in the Forbidden Forest.”

While Draco didn’t flinch, his eyes flitted away for a moment and that was all it took to tell her that both Dumbledore and Voldemort still haunted him greatly.

Then something about what she said seemed to connect in his brain, and he narrowed his eyes.

“Just how long did Potter have that invisibility cloak?”

“As far as I know, since around Christmas of First Year.” A smirk pulled at her mouth.

He scowled, and she could almost envision the memory he was reliving involving a certain Shrieking Shack and some mud.

Her shoulders shook in her silent laughter, and it was all she could do not to spill her wine.

“Oh, think that’s funny do you?” His brow hitched.

“Just as hilarious as when it happened.”

“Retribution comes when you least expect it, Hermione,” he sniffed, taking another sip of his wine.

She rolled her eyes and laid her head against his chest, listening to the steady rhythm of his heart.

His fingers came up after a few moments to stroke her arm in a soothing rhythm, and she polished off her glass, letting him place it with his on the end table.

“After that nap earlier, it feels like it’s been the longest day ever,” she muttered.

He nodded in silent agreement, and she knew he’d been up for even longer than she had; how he slept so little and still functioned was a mystery. 

“You should get some rest in a real bed, Hermione.” His breath whispered across her scalp as he nuzzled her hair.

“Are _you_ going to bed?”

“Not yet...” 

She wondered if he was going to sleep at all that night.

“Will you come sit with me until I fall asleep?” she asked in a small voice. Her cheeks burned in humiliation over having to ask, but the idea of going into that dark room by herself after everything she’d recently learned was enough to make her stomach turn. She felt like a child all over again, asking it of him.

“Of course,” he whispered.

He got off the couch and pulled her to her feet, then walked her to the door of her room. “I’m going to change into something comfortable while you get ready for bed, alright? I’ll meet you there in a few minutes.”

He watched her cross the threshold before he turned and went into his room to change. She made her way to the bathroom and changed back into her comfortable nightgown from earlier before brushing her teeth and washing her face. When she got back to the bedroom, he was sitting against the headboard with the blankets on her side already turned down. She slid in and wiggled about until she was comfortable, scooting over as close to him as she could get and gripping the edge of the blanket he’d pulled up around her shoulders.

“Thank you...”

“Shhhh, sleep,” he murmured as he stroked her hair.

She didn’t particularly want to, dreading what would come in dreams, but between the feel of his fingers and the safety his presence brought to her, she stood little chance of staying awake after the culmination of events from the day.

She recalled waking twice in the night. Both times Draco was there to calm her back down and soothe her back asleep. The second time had been from a dream about a dark figure standing over her in her bedroom in the middle of the night. She was screaming and struggling by the time Draco was able to wake her. and he’d gathered her against him and held her tight, rocking her while whispering soothing nonsense against her hair. Eventually, he’d taken to rubbing her back, and the last thing she remembered was him tucking her head under his chin where she fell asleep. When she woke the next morning, she found herself all but buried under her blankets and face down in her pillow with no Draco in sight. Not even where he’d sat was mussed, the pillow still neatly in place.

She could smell breakfast, and her stomach rumbled, practically demanding that she get up and greet the day, along with whatever bullshit it may bring. With great effort, she dragged herself out from her warm haven, then wrapped herself in a robe and stuffed her feet into her plush slippers before venturing out. She trudged to the breakfast table to find him sitting in his usual spot, dressed in a charcoal gray three-piece suit with a crisp white shirt and matching gray tie. Between the clothes and neatly coiffed hair, he looked like a model fresh off the fashion runway. All that pale skin and hair juxtaposed beautifully against the rich fabrics and deep color of the suit.

“Are you going to come have breakfast with me or are you going to stand there and stare all day?” He smeared butter and jam across his toast without looking up.

Hermione ignored the pseudo-snippy attitude he enjoyed using when he wanted to see if he could elicit a reaction and passed behind him to get to her seat. She sat without a word, and he took a good look at her, staring pointedly at her hair with a smirk curling his mouth. At that, she finally narrowed her eyes, lazily picking up her knife to point at him. “That’s about enough of that.” 

His smirk widened as if he were convinced she wasn’t going to fall apart like last night. She shut her brain down as it tried to conjure the thought more fully. Something nagged, but she refused to entertain it until after they’d eaten. Food hadn’t been in the cards the day prior and getting some nourishment was the main focus.

While there were no more comments, she’d caught him stealing glances at what was likely a riotous mane around her head. When the last bite of bacon had been consumed, she picked up her spoon and examined her reflection. Curls were springing in every direction, and her eyes narrowed as they cut toward him. They typically only did that if her hair was brushed, if she’d ran her fingers through it while studying, or during humid potions lessons. He’d been stroking her hair when she’d fallen asleep, and at some point, he must have teased half the curls apart.

Draco’s fingers twitched around his coffee cup when she drew her wand. Her stare didn’t ease up as she performed a silent, complicated little charm that made her hair collapse back together in simple, slightly bushy curls. It made normal hair fall straight, but could only manage to calm her curls down enough to be barely presentable.

He pried the spoon from her grip and replaced it with his long fingers, his thumb stroking along the backs of her knuckles until her body relaxed. 

“Cheating.”

He winked. “I have something for you.”

“What is it?”

“It’d ruin the surprise if I told.”

She rolled her eyes with a scoff.

His shoulders trembled with his silent laughter as he pulled her to her feet. It wasn’t worth asking where they were going; that would give her too much information. They wound through the house until they reached the small room off of the main greenhouse where they brewed potions and experimented with plants. He spun to face her and whipped a wide, green silk ribbon from his pocket. She eyed it as it dangled from between two pale fingers before turning around without fuss. It was the perfect opportunity to show him that she wasn’t _always_ difficult.

There was a pause before her vision was obscured by the soft fabric. After it was tied, he spun them both around, and she allowed him to steer her through the room. They came to a stop at last and the scrap of silk fell away. It took a couple of blinks before she realized exactly what was in front of her.

Under a glass cloche was an aglaophotis in perfect bloom. Her head whipped around to look at him with wide eyes. So many possibilities were now available, and a list as tall as Hogwarts fabricated itself in her mind of things they’d be able to improve.

“How…”

“Longbottom found a way to preserve them. I knew you’d want one but wouldn’t say anything since they were being raised for medical research, and you’d never want to detract from that. The third successful crop bloomed a few days ago. I was going to give it to you yesterday, but everything went to hell in a—”

She flung her arms around his neck and shoved herself up onto her toes, silencing him with a fierce kiss. It only took a beat for him to react, and once he did, he was hoisting her by the waist to sit on the bench. He stepped between her thighs and dragged his fingertips up from her knees, the material catching on his wrists as he trailed them along her flesh. She wrapped her legs around his waist and pulled him closer, threading her fingers through his hair.

He pulled away only to press their foreheads together. “Most potions call for the petals. We’ll pick them as we need them and can attempt growing our own set with the seeds if you wish.”

“Please.”

Gray eyes skated across her face, taking her in as if memorizing her features like he’d never see her again.

“What’s wr—”

“Anything.” His voice was low, almost ragged. “I’d give you anything in this world. You’ve but to ask and it’s yours.”

Before she could reply, he was kissing her again, fiercer than before as his hands moved up to grip her waist. It wouldn’t surprise her if there were bruises in the shape of his fingertips later.

She knew what she wanted, and she mumbled, ‘library,’ against his mouth.

He picked her up, this time by the backs of her thighs, and spun. Suddenly, they were there. Request granted.

She unhooked her legs from around his waist and slid down his body with the help of gravity, breaking the kiss in the process. His lips were swollen, eyes glazed over.

“The books on potions are over—”

The clinking of his belt as she unbuckled it interrupted his directions. The leather sliding through the loops and the clink of metal on wood as it hit the floor were the only sounds for a moment until her robe slid down her shoulders and arms to puddle on the floor behind her. Her fingers deftly unbuttoned the waistcoat before she shoved it from his shoulders. A gentle push had him backing up with her following. 

His pupils had blown wide as he watched her stroke her fingers along his tie, causing it to come to life and undo itself before slithering off of him entirely, joining the collection of clothes on the floor. He was so focused on her that he apparently didn’t realize how close he was to the chair until the back of his calf bumped into it. His eyes flew wide as she gave him an easy push, sending him sprawling backward into it.

He looked at her in wonder as she mounted his lap, straddling him and running her hands down then back up his chest to unbutton his shirt.

“Off.”

He complied with her quiet request, shucking it from his person. As soon as it was gone, she dragged her nails lightly down his chest, scraping his nipples and eliciting a hiss. He quivered under her touch, and she could feel his cock straining against his trousers as she ground against him. She snatched his hands and placed them on the hem of her nightgown. No encouragement was needed for him to all but rip the garment over her head, flinging it away. Her nipples tightened in the cool air and he looked as though he could eat her alive right there.

Hands gripped her hips again as he drank her in. She leaned forward and kissed his chin, tilting his head back and making her way down the column of his throat with open-mouthed kisses, over his clavicle, and then she slithered into the floor between his legs as she made her way down his body, exploring with her mouth and tongue what her hands had discovered prior. She took a moment while she was down there to divest him of his shoes and socks.

She looked up at him from her position on her knees as she unbuttoned his trousers. His eyes were hooded, his Adam's apple bobbing once as he watched her and attempted to control his breathing. The zipper dragged down, the only other sound outside of their increasingly harder breathing. She untucked him from his trousers and ran her fingers lightly along his stiff cock.

Warm fingers grasped her by the chin, and her eyes shot up to meet his.

“You don’t have to.”

“Please?”

She’d wanted to for months—she’d been dreaming about this moment—and a thrill shot up her spine as he gave the tiniest of nods and released her to do as she wished.

A ragged breath being sucked in was music to her ears as she grasped his cock firmly and licked a stripe with the flat of her tongue from his sac to his tip, kissing her way back down and repeating the process. Her wet tongue dragged across her lips, and his eyes were glued to the motion. Lowering her head, she enveloped the tip, swirling her tongue around it before sliding down a couple of inches and coming back up. Saliva dripped down him, and she collected it in her palm to work the base of his cock.

The leather squeaked as his hands became white-knuckled on the arms of the chair; that just wouldn’t do, so she pried one away and buried it in her hair towards the nape of her neck. His fingers tightened reflexively but not painfully in the strands.

Their eyes met again, and she nudged him with a thought.

_Teach me what you like._

His chin dipped, and he used the grip on her hair to show her the pace he preferred. It was similar to the handjobs she’d given him, and she was able to work further down his shaft as she went until he nearly hit the back of her throat. His fingers relaxed as she settled into the rhythm. His taste was unique, and his scent was concentrated there. It was better than anything she’d dreamed up as he slid thick and heavy across her tongue.

Her cheeks hollowed out as she suckled, and it delighted her to note his pinkened cheeks as he groaned from between clenched teeth. He throbbed in her mouth, and she moved to caress his balls with the lightest touch of her fingertips. His thighs and stomach clenched, trembling, and it was obvious that he was fighting to hang on. 

That wouldn't do, either, so she slipped her fingers behind his balls to lightly massage his perineum; his fingers tightened almost painfully in her hair. “ _Fuck_ , Hermione, I’m about to—” 

She refused to stop, pulling against his grip until he relented and a chorus of fuck, fuck, _fuck_ was torn from his lips as his eyes squeezed tightly together. He came undone with a shout and coated her tongue and the back of her throat. She groaned at the taste of him, careful to swallow every last drop. When he gave a final shudder and went limp beneath her, she released his cock and leaned her head against his thigh. Her jaw ached pleasantly and she was triumphant over how intensely he came apart beneath her.

His fingers slid from her hair and loosely wrapped around her upper arm, giving a weak tug toward him. What he wanted was clear, so she climbed to her feet and then carefully back onto his lap. His arms wrapped around her waist, holding her tight to him as he caught his breath. She could feel his heart pound beneath her ear as she watched, enraptured, from beneath her lashes as he coasted along on the high an orgasm could give. It occurred to her often that he was beautiful, but the afterglow made him more so.

After his heart had settled back into its normal rhythm, and his strength had returned, he peeked down at her. “And they say women don’t like receiving flowers anymore.”

She smacked his chest lightly, but couldn’t stop her lips from curling at the corners. “You can give me flowers like that any time you want.”

“Noted. Now, let me return the favor.”

It is something she has never done before, and she needed to roll it around in her head for a while. “Later.”

A pout settled on his lips, but he nodded anyway and slid a hand between them instead, giving her a chance to object as he caressed the skin above her mound. When she didn’t, he slid her knickers to the side and dragged two fingers through her folds. It was then that she discovered just how soaked she’d gotten during the previous act. He brought his fingertips to his mouth, looking her dead in the eye and sucking his fingers clean with a groan. Her teeth dug her lip so hard she almost bled; his thumb popped it loose before she could do any real damage.

He sat them up and ducked his head down, taking one taut nipple in his mouth and dragging his tongue across it. She whimpered as his hands grasped her hips, and then suddenly, her knickers disappeared. One hand slid around to grasp one of her cheeks as the other found its way back between her thighs. Her eyes squeezed closed and her mouth fell open as his fingers firmly circled her clit. If she were in her right mind, she might have been disconcerted at the sounds pouring from her, but all she could focus on was the impending explosion. She was already wet and throbbing from how worked up she’d gotten while sucking him off, so it took an embarrassingly short amount of time before she was screaming his name and trembling, fingers scrabbling at his shoulders to cling onto something, anything as she was sucked under a riptide of bliss.

Now, _her_ heart pounded and she collapsed, boneless, on his chest as he reclined back again, holding her tight against him.

When they were both back on Earth, they relocated to the couch for a brief nap after a cleaning spell.

They spend the rest of the day half-naked. Hermione was still wearing her nightgown and he was dressed only in his trousers as they researched for what potion would be best to modify. Usually, he was content to sit close to her and was pleased when she leaned her head on his shoulder or cuddled into his side. Throughout the day, it was a rarity that his hands left her. Playing with her hair, rubbing along her back, or lacing their fingers together as they read their respective books. Sometimes she noticed he’d stopped reading and was watching her intently instead.

When she opened her mouth to ask if everything was all right, he beat her to it, asking, “Is it later yet?”

It took a minute, but she suddenly realized what he meant. Her stomach clenched, but she nodded anyway. He took her to the tables and sat in a chair, pulling her into his lap where he rubbed and caressed until she was loose and relaxed under his touch again. Her nightgown once again disappeared, and then she was on her back on the cool table, her legs spread wide. He took his time, drinking her in despite how pink she turned. With the way he sat in the chair at the head of the table, it was as if he’d sat down for dinner and she was the meal.

His hands held her thighs open as her shyness mounted. “You were unflappable earlier when you had my cock halfway down your throat. Now you look like you’ve been caught having your first naughty thought ever.”

Her teeth sunk into her lip as she recalled the feel of him throbbing against her tongue as he emptied himself in her. She relaxed infinitesimally, and he took his first lick. It was unlike anything she’d ever thought it may be like, but as he tongued her clit she decided she enjoyed it. Her nipples were aching for attention, so she rolled them tightly between her fingers, pinching and plucking. He took his time as he explored and mapped her out, leaving her slick in his wake.

When he sucked her clit into his mouth, she gave a ragged cry as two fingers easily slipped inside her, pumping in and out. It wasn’t until he gathered some of the moisture on his free hand and slipped it beneath the table that she noticed his forearm moving up and down as he wanked. Her eyes were glued to the motion, and she began to flutter around his fingers. He swirled his tongue against her as he gave another suckle. Fingers curling inwards, they hit that perfect spot that never failed to make her detonate with a scream.

When she came back down and pushed him away with what little strength she had left, he rested his head against her. His ragged breath ghosted over her sensitive, swollen flesh and made her shiver. He kissed her thigh before pressing his face against her soft skin as he tensed and came with a groan. She stroked his hair with trembling fingers while he laid half-collapsed against the table and her, silently lamenting that she had no strength to sit up and pull his hand to her mouth so she could lick him clean.

After what seemed like forever, they recovered a second time, and this time she performed the cleaning spell. They relocated back to the couch, books abandoned to curl up together.

“Where do you want lunch from tomorrow?” His breath ruffled her curls as he mumbled into her hair.

“Sandwich shop?” 

He nodded. She was glad she didn’t have to elaborate because he’d effectively shut off most of her thinking ability with that last experience. Now all she could focus on was the feel of his hands, body, and warmth as he clung to her, trapping her between him and the back of the couch.

Much later, she woke up in the dark, in her bed, and her heart pounded until he slipped an arm around her waist and pulled her back against him, sleepily shushing her as his hand stroked her side. She relaxed into the safety that is him, and then she was gone, back into dreams.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> See you all next Saturday <3


	23. Chapter 23

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Monday all! My apologies for the tardiness. 
> 
> Huge thanks to my Alpha/Betas NuclearNik and Monica03, without them I would be a mess and this story would be a disaster. Also a huge thanks to my Omegas (pre-readers) MarshmallowMcGonagall, QuinTalon, and Weestarmeggie!
> 
> To everyone who reads, subscribes, bookmarks, comments/reviews, follows, reblogs, likes, etc: I appreciate you all SO VERY MUCH. With the length of my chapters and the editing process, it leaves little time to come back and interact (I'll still try, however!). I promise though, all of it makes me go starry eyed and flail about every single time.
> 
> I commissioned the image below from Avendell to go with this chapter and I ABSOLUTELY love it. So very much. Go visit here for the full size version: https://avendell.tumblr.com/post/621557222965657600/commission-for-the-lovely-noncanonlove-midnight

Hermione hadn’t spent so much time in Diagon Alley since she’d shopped for Christmas gifts last year. When they arrived, Draco produced a list from the inner pocket of his coat. The only word she’d caught from his mumbling as he smoothed it back out had been _Mother_. They’d been to Madam Malkin’s, Madam Primpernelle’s, Obscurus Books, TerrorTours, and Gringotts on behalf of Narcissa before they were able to start their own bout of shopping. Harry would have a fit if he knew they’d been here for three hours already.

Draco's hands had scarcely left her, completely unfazed to walk down Diagon Alley with her tucked against his side, his hand on her waist. In the shops, they browsed with linked hands, and when she needed both of them, she could feel his fingertips in the ends of her hair or trailing along the center of her back. It was puzzling; he was never this handsy. It was unlike Draco to be spooked by a tarot reading, but far be it from she to complain about it.

They were in Potage’s Cauldron Shop when her stomach rumbled audibly. 

Gray eyes cut over towards her as she flushed pink. “Let’s go have lunch. We can come back later.”

“No! It’s fine. We can at least finish up here. Besides, it’s barely noon.”

He’d already caught her hand and was headed towards the exit, however. The brisk autumn wind blew her curls about as they stepped outside and a shiver raced down her spine until an arm slithered around her waist and pulled her into his warm side.

They passed Scrivenshaft’s and Hermione made a note to stop in for those new notebooks she needed before they went back home.

It wasn’t until two shops down when she realized that she’d referred to Appledale as home in her mind, and she stumbled. Draco’s arm tightened around her, keeping her upright.

“Alright?”

Her face flamed. “Yes, thank you.” Her eyes darted to the side to see him watching her, curious concern dancing behind his eyes, and she forced her attention back to the path lest she discover anymore uneven cobblestones. 

There was something else that had been on her mind all morning: the day before, when he’d given her the rarest of flowers so she could experiment as she wished, a realization hit her. It didn’t fully solidify until well after his declaration of how he’d give her anything, if she just asked. Not until she woke up with her face tucked against his chest and the steady beating of his heart beneath her ear did everything come together in a culmination. It was _then_ when the warm, swirling feelings in her belly, chest, and bones turned to a liquid gold and the realization that she loved him struck her stupid.

She’d watched him sleep for the better portion of an hour as she marveled over the revelation. It didn’t make any sense to love him this soon but here they were. She’d always thought these sorts of things should run along a timeline or schedule. The desire to care and insist upon some rationality should’ve taken over her entire thought process. Instead, it was nowhere to be found, just like the desire to try to find it. When it came down to it, she realized those were pre-war ideas, and she was at least twenty thousand leagues from being the person she was back then. She could only hope that when she inevitably screwed up and said it, he would be to that point too... or hopefully close to it.

It was like holding the best secret on Earth against her chest. She’d wanted to say it a half dozen times that morning already. Firstly against his mouth when he kissed her after waking up the first time, then against his hair as he settled back in to sleep some more in the circle of her arms.

Tinkling bells brought her attention back to the present, and she realized they’d made it all the way down Diagon and were about to be seated in the restaurant. They ordered their usual fare and when the waitress zoomed off, she realized how serious Draco looked as he stared out the window. His eyes were tight at the corners, and she could feel his knee bouncing beneath the table. He _never_ did that, ever. He hated fidgeting with a passion and had been known to clamp a hand down on her thigh to make her stop jiggling it.

“Draco.”

The entirety of his attention swung around and landed on her with enough force to lay her flat.

 _Breathe in, breathe out._ “What’s wrong?”

His jaw clenched, nostrils flaring before forcing himself to relax and become still, gray eyes still tight. “I have to tell you something. I’ve been putting it off for a while now.”

Her shoulders tensed, and she gripped the napkin in her lap, squeezing it between her fingers. Had it been a paper napkin it’d be well on its way to becoming confetti. She couldn’t stop her eyes from flitting across the planes of his face. What had caused such tension after yesterday’s perfection? Whatever it was, it couldn’t be good. _I have to tell you something_ almost never ended well. They were also in public rather than at the estate, which meant he was hoping that it would deter her from pitching a fit.

“Why did you wait?” Her voice trembled. 

“I wasn’t sure how you’d take it, and I’m obviously still not but there’s no point waiting anymore. You’d find out soon enough anyway.” His hands dropped out of sight, back to his lap.

The silence stretched on, and the air thickened around them. She opened her mouth to demand he spit it out already when the damnable waitress appeared. They both froze as she put their food and drinks down before scurrying off.

Hermione felt warmth surround their table and knew he’d cast some sort of privacy ward. 

He met her eye again and squared his shoulders, as if he’d used the moment of interruption to fortify himself. “I’m a Veela.”

His voice had been quiet and calm as if he hadn’t just dropped a massive bomb. Her mind sputtered as it grappled with the new information. Something shifted behind his eyes, his brows crinkled in distress and prompting her to action.

“You’re a what?” The phrase was stuck on repeat in her head, so it shouldn’t have surprised her to hear the breathy question come out of her mouth.

“A Veela. Quarter Veela, actually.” He looked like he was memorizing the lines of her face.

“You mean with the…” She gestured behind her, pointing at her back.

He nodded once, sharply.

She fell back against her chair in shock, not able to tear her eyes off of him. White-gold hair and moonbright skin. Why hadn’t she picked up on that before now? He looked an awful lot like Fleur in complexion now that she thought about it. So had both Lucius and Narcissa. And the way he behaved towards her… Her heart took off at a gallop, slamming against her ribs.

“When did you find out?” she asked.

“Summer before fourth year.” He was staring at his plate, systematically breaking up a crisp into crumbs.

That must mean… No. A thousand instances spun through her mind starting with the World Cup when he told her to keep her head down. Catching him watching her in class or in the great hall. How he’d turned his attention from her to mainly Harry and Ron when he wanted to goad them. The beautiful moving sketches that she found on her nightstand every morning while she was in the hospital wing because of Dolohov. The agony in his eyes when she was being tortured. His lack of dates since Hogwarts. Lunch together at least twice a week and then some.

It all made sense now, how he was her Due North, her calm in the storm. That sense of home and safety that was always there with him when it had only ever been there before with Harry. Why she hadn’t cursed him when he’d caught her at that gala when she’d been having a panic attack, and it was why she was brought back to rights whenever he touched her. She suddenly felt lighter as all those questions that had plagued her evaporated into nothingness now that she had her answer. A memory from the previous day floated into her head.

 _“Anything.” His voice was low, almost ragged. “I’d give you anything in this world. You’ve but to ask and it’s yours.”_

They were mates. He would be devoted to her until his dying breath.

“Kneazle got your tongue?” he asked morosely, interrupting her thoughts as he flicked the crumbs from his fingertips and glanced up at her again from his plate.

“It’s a lot to process...” 

He nodded as he looked back out the window. He seemed grateful that she at least hadn’t run off screaming.

It couldn’t have been easy, learning that the person you were supposed to hate was the person who would complete you, seeing that person be with other people, be hunted down to be culled, tortured, and maimed in front of you, and then be mixed up in a massive magical battle. His behavior fourth year forward took on a whole new context.

“It makes me sad for you. It should be someone you would choose outside of the influence.”

At that, his mercurial eyes locked onto hers. “Outside of our shared history, what makes you think I wouldn’t consider you?”

She opened her mouth but froze and shut it again, the space between her eyebrows crinkling in thought. They were both highly intelligent, first and second in their year. They had similar interests, loved debating, loved art. Their tastes in books ran close, they both loved films, the symphony, and the opera; they’d even attended it together. In converse, there were several things they were complimentary on. They worked well together as work partners. She’d always noticed that the things he enjoyed doing, she despised and vice versa. He always did the dishes when she had him over for lunch or dinner, which was a chore she didn’t like fooling with despite there being a simple magical solution. The more she thought about it, the more sense it made.

The thus far ignored pickles on his plate caught her attention. She hated pickles, but Draco loved them, and she was always happy to hand hers over. The inverse was true with olives. She loved them, and Draco would rather die than eat one. Or _act_ like he was dying if he accidentally ate one. 

Her eyes met his again. “When you put it like that, it makes sense; _we_ make sense. But Draco, we _do_ share that history together, not that that’s mattered in quite a long time, of course.”

He clenched his jaw as he glared at his plate, “At the very least, please don’t ask to have me removed as your partner at work. If you want to stay with Potter after this, I understand.”

She froze and watched as he folded in on himself. He crossed his arms as he resumed staring morosely at his plate, his leg bouncing as if he wanted nothing more than to flee the situation.

She wasn’t sure where he would run to seeing as they currently lived together and the fact that he wouldn’t be able to stay away for long if he intended to keep living.

His eyes snapped to follow her as she got out of her side of the booth and rounded the table. Hermione invaded his space and crowded him up against the window so the chance of escape was nil, unless he did something like climb the furniture or duck under the table and crawl out. She pried his hands from where he had them buried against himself and took them within her own, forcing him to turn towards her. Catching his eyes, she played with his fingers, waiting until he looked at her steadily and lost some of the caginess.

“Do you really think I’d just abandon you? Reject you?” she asked, voice gentle.

He let out a tight sigh. “It’s different for me, Hermione. I _need_ you. The inverse isn’t necessarily true.”

“I wouldn’t say that at all. Like I said, this is a lot to process. I only said I was sad for you over your lack of choice, not that I felt for you because I didn’t want anything to do with you. I _do_ have some questions, though, and a few things to confess myself.” Since he was putting himself out there, she figured she may as well tell him that he wasn’t the only one affected.

“Of course you do, you’re you.” He further relaxed, fingers grasping hers as his eyes rolled playfully. He looked intrigued at what confessions she may have in store.

If he was back to sarcasm and jabs then things would be okay.

“How is it you’ve been able to hold off?”

“What do you mean?”

“Veelas need their mates. I did enough reading before Fleur married Bill to know a decent amount about them. I wanted to make sure she wasn’t doing anything to entrap him. Veelas need their mates, need… _intimacy_ , with them in order to continue living.” She trailed off at his snicker.

“How often do we eat together? See each other? Spend time together outside of work? There’s much more to intimacy than sex. You _know_ that. So far, it’s been enough.” The _“barely”’_ was unsaid but she heard it all the same.

Her cheeks reddened, but he was right. It wasn’t like they hadn’t been intimate in other ways more recently.

“It’s just… the books—”

“Those books were likely written by someone like Lockhart who’d never even met a Veela before.” He sneered derisively at the mere mention of their second year Defense teacher.

“So where do we go from here? Do we need to move in together? Well, on a more permanent basis anyway.” Her brain went from zero to a thousand miles an hour.

“While that would be lovely beyond words, I don’t want this to be more of a burden on you than it has to be.”

She could see how much it meant to him for her to choose this because she _wanted_ it, not because it was what he needed despite the severity of that need. Besides, a burden was the last thing it was.

“It’s not! You could have come out and told me when you reached the age of maturity. Could have popped round and told me that we were it for one another for life. But you _didn’t_ . You took your time, got to know me properly, _asked_ me to be your consort. Everything has been done by my consent when it could very well have been different, I imagine.”

“You can’t blame me for taking the slow route; I didn’t want to scare you, and I wanted it to be as much of a choice as possible. Obligation often breeds resentment, and I wouldn’t be able to live with that. I wanted to do it right if I could manage it.”

She bit her lip as warmth spread through her chest. “No, of course. I don’t blame you.”

It didn’t matter what he was. He was still her Draco and as long as that fact held, all would be well in her world. Should she be angry he’d kept it a secret? Yes, probably. Would she get miffed later? Possibly. For now she felt lighter than air at having the answers she’d been desperately wanting for months. Being his mate was something that would take time to sink in the more she ruminated on it. As she’d told him twice, it was a lot to process.

“Let’s go home,” he suggested, interrupting her train of thought. His eyes drank in her face before landing squarely on her mouth. They had shopping left to do but it could damn well wait.

She gathered their lunches, stuffing them into a to-go bag that the waitress— who knew them well by this point, as often as they ate there— had already left on the table. Draco counted out well enough Galleons for their meals and a generous tip as she slipped into her coat.

The trip to the Leaky for the Floo went by in a blur with her hand ensconced in his. 

He wrapped her in his arms, and she threw the Floo Powder at their feet, sending them home in a whoosh of green flames. He took the bag from her fingers and dropped it into a chair, bringing his hands up to her face to cup her face, eyes devouring her.

“May I kiss you?” he asked hoarsely.

Her heart fluttered, and she barely was able to dip her chin before he’d closed the distance, cupping her neck and kissing her hungrily. His fingers splayed across the small of her back as she pressed herself to him, sliding her arms up and around his neck. He was home, safety, Due North, her calm in the storm, the eye of the hurricane that was her life. She could practically feel how he was the other half of her that had been missing for so long, and now that she knew, it was obvious.

He pulled back half an inch and inhaled a shuddering breath before planting a series of short, quick pecks, occasionally nipping her lip and making her whimper. The rigidity he usually held himself with seemed to have melted away, and there was far less restraint in his touch. She was sure he’d been expecting her to run away screaming, to be horrified by what she’d learned. It was undeniably strange and not something she’d ever anticipated in a thousand years, but it felt _right_ and in light of all the strange things, it made _sense_ and that was all that mattered.

She pulled back, and he instantly released her, hands settling on her hips as he looked down at her with glittering eyes and swollen lips from their moment of passion. The couch was the goal as she backed him across the room and pushed him to sit. Climbing into his lap, she straddled him and resumed devouring him in kiss after kiss.

It was as if his soul were singing to her and hers was calling back in reply, in acceptance. He broke away and tucked his face against her neck, breathing her in. His fingers trembled where they were splayed across her back, and she could feel him decompress from what had to have been one of the most stressful situations he’d experienced in years. He sucked in a shaky breath, and she felt a damp warmth against the column of her throat. 

Her fingers stroked along his shoulders as she pressed kisses against his hair while he clung to her. “Everything’s alright, I’m here, I’m not going anywhere,” she whispered.

Eventually he pulled back and pressed their foreheads together. She brushed away the rogue tears that had escaped when the relief had overwhelmed his system. The naked desire from the photograph she’d seen in their office was on display for the first time now that he didn’t have to hold back constantly.

“It’s not my intention to smother you, but I can’t seem to be able to stop myself. It’s just a massive relief, overall, to be accepted by my mate. Not all are so lucky. Some people’s soulmates die younger and then when they hit the Age of Inheritance, they decline until they give up this life, their soul going on to try to find them again in the next one. Some people reject theirs and the Veela will react in accordance to the wishes of their mate. It’s a compulsion to do what makes them happy.”

She blinked and froze, her heart stuttering. That certainly wasn’t in any of the books. How strong was this compulsion and what were the limits of it? “Compulsion?”

“Don’t go getting twisted and obsessing over that word. It doesn’t apply to us. The things I do for you are things I _want_ to do already. Compulsions in both people, whether given into or not, are a natural occurrence to help facilitate a successful mating if either party is hesitant. It’s purely a survival reaction. It’s certainly not a situation where you could do something like tell me to go jump off the London Bridge, and I’d _want_ to go do it.”

The ability to breathe returned. It would’ve been an exceptionally uncomfortable situation had she found herself with any sort of control over him in that manner. The slant that would have had over their relationship would have colored it in much darker tones than she wanted to think about.

“Yes, well, it’s not a situation that’s happened in quite a long time but the Ministry has ways of acting in the Veela’s best interest if someone petitions them to intervene. More than a few of the old families saw benefits in bringing Veela blood into their lines, and of course, they passed laws to protect themselves,” he said as he watched for her reaction.

“You mean I could have been made to be with you?” she asked. Surprise and horror contorted her features as she stared.

He nodded. “It’d be similar to a marriage or population law the Wizengamot has enacted in the past. You’d have to agree to live with or near me or risk having your wand snapped and being removed from wizarding society. _All_ of wizarding society. It’s enough of a threat that they’ve never had to exile anyone from my understanding.”

“I can’t imagine myself complying with either of those sorts of laws to begin with,” she grumbled. Her eyebrows slanted severely at the audacity of the Ministry to force people into lives they likely didn’t want.

The idea made her think of how Molly had used a love potion on Arthur, and she wondered how many witches and wizards had drunk one—or several—in order to learn to love, or at least learn to tolerate, the person they’d been stuck with. She shuddered, and his hands rubbed up and down her back in response as if he knew where her thoughts lay.

“You’re not one to be forced into anything, for one thing. Forcing a situation has a tendency to set it up for it backfiring spectacularly. For another thing, it’s rare for mates to reject each other, so it’s usually not a worry. It may take some time to get used to or know the other person, but from the few accounts I’ve heard about, it worked out fine in the end. Finally, I wanted you to choose me. I’d do it all over—suffer the same—if it meant everything working out for you to be here with me like you are right now.”

“You suffered?” She pulled back enough to examine his face.

He sighed, licking his lips as he chose his words carefully.

“The truth, Draco. Tell me the truth. In its entirety.” The curls of anger that’d been missing earlier now made their appearance. Mate or not, nothing less than the full truth was going to be tolerated.

“You’re not going to like it.”

It’s not like she was a stranger to hearing things she didn’t like, especially as of late. Her eyebrows rose on her forehead.

“It involved a lot of potions and very little sleep for a long time. Pansy taught me her best glamor charms and with some help from Severus’s old potion books and diaries, I was able to make modifications to— Why are you scowling like that?”

“Because you _suffered_ when you didn’t have to, Draco! You repressed your very nature in order to give me a chance at normalcy in admittedly a very unusual situation! Do you not know me well enough to know that I would’ve helped you?”

His lips pursed, distaste coloring his features. “I didn’t _need_ you to give me help. I _needed_ things to play out like they did, naturally and completely free of any sort of manufactured coercion.”

As much as the thought of him suffering distressed her, it was probably nothing in comparison to the things he obsessed over. It was clear everything had been for the sake of her own free will as much as the idea could be applied. She reminded herself that everything was fine now, and there was no reason for him to suffer discomfort or uncertainty anymore. Acceptance was the appropriate response, so she kissed him until the look melted away.

“Now that it's no longer a concern, promise that you’ll allow me to help if you need it.” The idea of it happening after this clawed at her brain, and she clenched her fingers in his shirt sleeves.

“I promise I’ll tell you if it happens. If it makes you feel better, I haven’t suffered in months. The last suppression potion I took was right before our picnic.”

That’d been months ago; The rigidity bled from her as the knowledge soothed her mind.

“Thank you.”

Another thought occurred to her, and it brought on another wave of discomfort.

“What’s wrong now?”

“Did you have to register?” The question whooshed out of her in a rush.

“No, nobody officially knows that about my family. It’s all vague speculation amongst some of the older families but nothing concrete. Mother said the Blacks stopped recording the trait eons ago, and the Malfoys never seemed to record it in the first place.” He paused and eyeballed her before divulging the next bit. “Robards knows and so does Potter, but that was all purely because of the whole incident that got me suspended for a month. Since I’m so valuable to him with all my knowledge of Estates and the Pureblood circles and families from the dark side, he’s risked his position should anyone find out. Veela are formidable opponents, regardless of percentage.”

“So he’s essentially turned you into a tank.” Disgusted colored her tone before her eyes shot wide. “You mean Harry knew about this back then, and he said _nothing_ to me?!” 

“You can’t get angry at him. I demanded that he keep that to himself after the truth was revealed. Things wouldn’t have played out the same had he spilled the beans.”

She could concede that but it didn’t mean she had to like that Harry was in the know before she was.

“There was a secondary reasoning behind wanting to go to France for treatment, too, while we’re doing this whole thing of laying our cards on the table. St. Mungo’s is required to inform the Ministry of incidents like these, thanks to some policies left over from the days of the Dark Lord, as you know. France has no such nonsense because being part Veela isn’t an abnormal thing there. They’re accepted like regular wizards. If I were to be sent to St Mungo’s now, however slim the chances are, Robards will have them Obliviated. My parents have had to do it themselves if we couldn’t get our personal healer to us in time.”

She couldn’t blame him for that; no witch or wizard that she knew of would risk their wand. 

“Can’t say I blame you for that. The idea of them taking your wand away leaves me feeling ill at ease.”

“There’s no reason to worry about it. Should anything happen, we can get from here to one of my family's estates in France in a snap. Actually, we could probably have this whole house packed and be gone by the time the Ministry could get the wards down on this place.” He looked thoughtful, as if weighing the different variables of the scenario. “By the way, I suppose this is a good time to tell you I have blood wards up, and I would like to add you to that set if you still want to make this place home.”

“What’s involved?” she asked, eyebrow quirked.

“Not much. I just need some of your blood to mix it with some of mine in a potion and add it to the foundation and the ley lines of the estate in a small ritual.”

She shrugged her acquiescence; it would be interesting to see.

“Now, you said you had some things you had to confess as well.” His head tilted as he studied her.

She slid her hands down his chest to toy with one of the buttons on his shirt, her eyes glued to it as she assembled her thoughts. Before he could interrupt, she began to speak.

“During our very first encounter, when I was leaving the gala in a panic attack and you grabbed me from behind, I couldn’t figure out why I hadn’t cursed you six ways to Sunday. I couldn’t see you, couldn’t identify you by the feel of your body or by your scent. The only person I knew who could do that with impunity is Harry, and that’s only because we spent so long on the run with one another through the winter.” She worried her lip with her teeth. She’d read about Veela jealousy before and wondered how true that aspect was, hoping that his reactions to Harry didn’t stem from jealousy. “Magic isn’t my only weapon either; I can do basic self defense tactics as well. If you’d been perceived as a threat, it would have been nothing for me to put you on the ground but you weren’t. You were able to hold me tight and bring me back to rationality, and for the first time in years I felt safe, like I was where I was supposed to be. Every time after that when I was close to you not only did I feel safe, it was like something inside of me had found Due North again and it was pointing directly to you, and I could never figure out why.”

“Now you know.”

She dipped her head once before they met in a melding of mouths. 

“I hate to interrupt,” a voice called out from the fireplace, and Hermione found herself suddenly reclined on the couch, covered by Draco who had his wand out and pointed menacingly.

“Harry? Seriously? Today of all days?” she demanded when it connected in her brain that her best friend was coming through the Floo in full Auror regalia. Draco lowered his arm, reholstering his wand as he sat back up and pulled her with him.

Hermione straightened her clothes as Harry eyed her speculatively before shifting his focus to Draco who was sitting with his legs crossed at the knee as if Harry came over every day uninvited.

Draco’s hand curled at her waist and nudged her until she moved over and was leaning against his side.

“Finally tell her, did you then?” Harry asked with a cocked brow.

Draco rolled his eyes and fixed a sneer on his face. “I don’t see how that’s any business of yours.”

The other man shrugged. “Just curious, Malfoy. She’s practically my sister. Anything involving her is of high interest to me.”

“Well she’s my mate, and she’s more important to me than she’ll ever be to you,” Draco bit out with a glare.

Harry held his hands up. “Easy, Malfoy. It’s not a competition, and Hermione isn’t pie. She can be important to both of us in different ways without a claim to more or less of her.”

Draco just pulled her closer against his side, his expression not relenting. He never acted like this, and she speculated it was mostly due to the stress of the day, and so she said nothing on his behavior.

“What did you need, Harry?” Hermione broke in before Draco got even more worked up. She made a note to herself to have a discussion with Harry about not antagonizing him over her now that she was privy to his secret.

“Two things. We’ve found another magical location that’s been defiled with Dark Magic. I’m not sure what they did but it feels like the aura of the place is weaker, almost like there’s a void there. Also, I have to notify the two of you that Justin Finch-Fletchly is missing. He was last seen two days ago before he went off to meet an informant for a drink at some pub they use regularly,” Harry said grimly.

Hermione sucked in a breath. She’d forgiven Justin but the idea that he had been kidnapped or worse left a lump in her throat the size of her fist. She swallowed it down as best she could. Draco squeezed her waist, and she took a deep breath.

“Does anyone have a list of his informants or anything? Any idea at all who could have taken him?” she asked.

The Auror department had come a long way in the last couple of years, and it would be harder than ever to take even a moderately talented Auror. Justin wasn’t the best, but by no means was he the worst—solid middle of the pack when it came to abilities and talents.

Harry shook his head with tightly pressed lips. She read the anger there, and it reminded her of the days where he used to blame himself for every little thing that happened. Justin had been part of the D.A., and she knew that Harry, as his one time defense teacher, would hold himself responsible in some fashion.

“I hate to interrupt you on your day off, but I need you to go investigate the site while the area is still fresh,” he said apologetically.

They both nodded, and Harry started back towards the fireplace, stopping to give his final request. “Report back to me when you’re finished. Robards is in the middle of dealing with Justin’s disappearance so he’s using me in his stead to deal with the rest of the department.”

“We will,” Hermione assured him before he disappeared in a rush of green flames.

Before she could get up, Draco was turning her towards him.

“Hermione, from here on in, should we get in a fire fight, you let me take the brunt. Anything short of the killing curse I’ll be able to take. Understand?” he asked, serious as she’d ever seen him.

She licked her lips, unease creeping along her spine as she tried to stall. He tilted his head down, eyes boring into hers.

“Yes,” she said weakly.

“Promise?” he implored, knowing that just because she understood didn’t mean she’d go through with it.

She huffed out a sigh. “I don’t like it.”

“I’m not asking you to like it; I’m asking you to spare my sanity in case we happen to find ourselves in the middle of something nasty. I can survive most anything, you on the other hand are still very delicate in comparison. Please, for me?”

She stared at him for a few moments before nodding her head in agreement.

“Thank you,” he whispered before pulling her close and pressing a kiss to her forehead.

She relished the contact before pulling away. “Let’s go get this over with. The sooner we go, the sooner we get back home.”

She stole a quick kiss before heading to change.

Something prickled at the back of Hermione’s mind, and she couldn’t stop herself from speculating that Justin had been taken in retribution for freeing her from that trap. She couldn’t explain why, but her thoughts kept circling back to the notion as if another part of her had subconsciously figured out another piece of the puzzle but was yet unable to pull it to the forefront of her mind to make sense of it. 

Hermione came back in her uniform, arching an eyebrow at him. “Not going to change?”

“No need. I can do everything in this so there’s no real point. It’s not like showing up at the office in a three piece suit is going to be frowned upon.”

“Let’s go look at the map then.” 

She marched over to the fireplace to the head to the office, Draco just a step behind her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> See you all on Saturday <3


	24. Chapter 24

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you have all had a lovely Saturday!
> 
> Huge thanks to my Alpha/Betas NuclearNik and Monica03, without them I would be a mess and this story would be a disaster. Also a huge thanks to my Omegas (pre-readers) MarshmallowMcGonagall, QuinTalon, and Weestarmeggie!
> 
> To everyone who reads, subscribes, bookmarks, comments/reviews, follows, reblogs, likes, etc: I appreciate you all SO VERY MUCH. With the length of my chapters and the editing process, it leaves little time to come back and interact (I'll still try, however!). I promise though, all of it makes me go starry eyed and flail about every single time.

It’d been a struggle for Hermione to keep her revelation to herself. She’d had to bite back the words on several different occasions; some moments were harder than others. Draco slept in her bed two nights in a row with her wrapped up in his arms, and it took everything in her to keep from mouthing the words against his hair, afraid he wasn’t actually asleep and would figure her out too soon.

They were in the library again. He’d said he had something for her before taking her hand and leading her up the stairs. Her heart was thudding against her ribs in wild excitement over whatever bound knowledge he was about to share. That is, until they rounded the corner and turned into the one section she’d staunchly avoided. Divination still wasn’t a subject she’d easily embrace. The tarot reading and Draco’s attempt at Divination in their office had been undeniably fascinating, but the thought of studying it with no structural conversation from those who were actually learned, like Narcissa, was off-putting.

The whir of the ladder sliding along its track towards the large, pale, outstretched hand made her stop just before she ran into his back. She peeked up in time to see his raised brow as he glanced back over his shoulder. A flush roared to life across her cheeks, and she took half a step back. Almost reluctantly, he pulled his fingers from hers and ascended the ladder. She eyed the pointy-toed boots level with her gaze and tasted a snide comment on the back of her tongue as the silver snake buckles glinted in the sunlight.

It felt like yesterday and a thousand years all at once that she’d met him at the Huntress Fountain for the gala at the Pucey’s. Her fingers traced along her left arm at the thought. She’d yet to lift the charm since she’d settled it back in place over the word engraved in her flesh, yet her fingertips could still trace it out without the aid of her sight.

His boots clicking on the hardwood floor as he reached the ground brought her eyes shooting back up to him and her hands dropping awkwardly by her side. In one hand he held a tall stack of small leather bound books on top of a pair of meatier tomes.

“Alright?”

She should have known he'd have seen her fingering the still invisible scar tissue. “Never better.” Her mouth quirked at the corner, and she returned her eyes to the tall stack he was still balancing on one hand.

His eyes raked across her form as if double checking the claim before he snagged her hand, lacing their fingers together as he took her back to the large research tables. He laid out all the books in an order that only made sense to him, left to right.

“These are the journals of my Veela ancestors.” He tugged on her hand to encourage her to have a look.

Her breath caught as she stepped closer, back in his personal space, and peered down at them—firsthand accounts of actual Veela and the stories that made up their lives. Her fingertips tingled with the urge to flip through the ancient pages. Frustration that she was just now getting to see these rumbled in the back of her mind, but it was quickly silenced with the reminder of  _ why _ they’d been several shelves above her head, tucked away in the Divination section.

“I didn’t bring them down for you to stand there and stare at them when it’s obvious you want to pick them up and read, so go ahead. Look them over, read every last word if you wish.”

His fingers slid out of hers as he moved to stand behind her, warm hands resting on her hips. The heat from his palms soaked through the sleeveless peach linen jumpsuit to warm her skin. His thumbs rubbed tandem circles, and she had to tamp down on the shiver that wanted to sneak up her spine.

Slim fingers darted out and plucked the very first diary off the wood. As soon as it was secure, he was guiding her backwards. A few short steps had Draco seated in the same chair she’d sucked him off in two days prior. He guided her sideways into his lap, one hand on her waist and the other resting on her thigh. She bit her bottom lip as she peeked from the corner of her eyes at him.

When she didn’t settle in to read, his hands slid from her to rest on the arm rests. “Are you uncomfortable? Prefer to move to the sofa?”

She shook her head quickly, her curls slinging about with the motion, causing Draco to lean back further until she quit. 

“What’s wrong?”

“Erm, I just thought you were more, ah. What I mean to say is, erm…” She sighed as her eyes darted about, as if the words were hidden all around the library and were waiting for her to seek them out like an old newspaper puzzle. Hermione took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “What I mean to say is that I thought there was some sort of protocol to follow in this courting business.”

His brows furrowed in confusion and pulled low as he studied her. “What?”

“Erm, what I mean is, I know you come from a more conservative family, and so far you’ve seemed keen on keeping things more appropriate?” The end came out as a question, and she found herself wanting to scowl.

He snickered, and she glared at him, giving into the expression as she grabbed his hand from the arm rest, pulling it back down where it’d previously rested on her thigh. His fingers curled, lightly massaging the flesh beneath, and she repressed another shiver.

“That was purely because I didn’t want to push you so fast so quickly. If we were going by the traditional courting rituals we’d be at the supervised outing stage still. Once we sleep together, that’s it. The mating bond will be fulfilled and there’s no going back.”

“What if I don’t want to go back?”

He was silent, examining her for a moment long enough to make her want to squirm. She tamped down on the desire and silently watched him.

“I want you to take time and seriously consider all the implications of that. As we are, you have the option of backing out. We’d forever be tied together, that bit is unavoidable, but I want you to be absolutely sure.” Something flickered behind his eyes before it was gone.

Now that she’d recognized and accepted things for how they were, a piece of her recoiled at the idea of not being joined to him. Now that she hadn’t rejected him it seemed as if their next hurdle to clear was potential regrets. There was no solution to that but time, so she would do as he asked.

“Alright. I’ll take the time and do as you ask, but when I come back with my decision you have to respect whatever conclusion I come to and we move forward from there.”

Draco nodded once before he pulled her to him and pressed his mouth hotly against hers, his eyes squeezed shut. Her hands slid up, one to grasp his waistcoat and one to thread into the silky hair at the nape of his neck as she kissed him back and leant into him.

He relaxed under her again and eventually pulled away, sliding his hand from her neck down to rest on her waist again. She stole another kiss before settling in his lap, opening the diary and beginning to read. She recognized at some point that while he was pretending to read his own book, he was watching her more than anything but said nothing as she sank back into the life of someone else.

The accounting of the Veela ancestor from the 1600’s was fascinating and the pages sped beneath her fingers, eating up the measure of the life long past. When she reached the end, she realized that there was more yet to come of the life of Collette Malfoy and made to jump up to retrieve the next diary but found herself still restrained by the hands at her thigh and waist. She looked at him with a cocked brow.

“When was the last time you dueled?”

Of all the questions on Earth that was the last one she’d expected. “Why?”

“Just answer the question.”

“But why do you want to know?”

His eyebrows climbed his forehead as he stared at her. “Because I do.”

She clenched her jaw in order to keep from arguing but answered through her teeth. “Since the Battle of Hogwarts I suppose. Now, why.” That time it was not a question but a command

“Because we need to get you brushed up on the skill. You may have dueled Bellatrix with Ginny but that was a long time ago, and you may not have the advantage of having a partner in future. Besides, it’s gorgeous out and we need some time out of this house. Unless you want to go on a broom ride, then dueling practice can wait.” He cut his eyes over to gauge her reaction.

It was a skill she had hoped she could leave behind her, which is why she ultimately became an investigator rather than an Auror. One on one fights she could manage, but the starbursts of color, loud bangs, and the screaming of her allies yanked her focus about too much for her to be as effective as she needed to be. She put that thought right out of her head, hoping beyond hope they could solve the case and stop whomever it was before she had to fight in another war.

There was only one "broom" she wanted to ride but he wasn’t amenable to that at the moment. Her face must have shown her discontent with the idea because his hands were sliding from her so she could rise. “I’ll meet you on the back lawn with your wand.  _ No _ brooms.” She nipped him on the jaw before hopping up and returning the journal to the table with the others.

She returned to her rooms to change into jeans, a jumper, and a pair of boots. By the time she’d made it outside, he was standing out in the grass, his sleeves rolled to above his elbows. The muscles in his forearms danced as he tapped his fingertips along his trousers. It was so strange to see him fidget, and she wondered if the prospect of dueling her made his Veela instincts react negatively. 

It struck her at the strangest times how he could be doing something absolutely unremarkable and yet still be so beautiful without even trying. The autumn wind ruffled his hair as he stood in thought, likely wrestling with himself over what they were about to do. With a jolt, she realized she’d stopped moving entirely to admire him.

She got herself together and moved about twenty feet away, spinning to face him with her wand at her side. Draco studied her for a moment before he bowed. Dueling lessons felt like a lifetime before, when she’d dueled Millicent Bulstrode in order to try to steal one of her hairs, but she bowed, then rose and got into a dueling stance only to jerk in confusion when he began to prowl to the left. Instinctually she matched him, regaining the original distance between them.

“I thought we were dueling.”

“We are.” He fired off a stinging hex, causing her to jump to the side to avoid it. He fired off another almost immediately after the first and she was unable to dodge that one, yelping as it hit her in the hip. His other fist clenched as he raised his wand to fire off another spell. “Are you a witch or not? That stick of wood dangling from your fingers could be of some help if you’d use it rather than hopping around.” 

Her brain snapped back in place, and she cast a shield charm just in time to deflect a stunner. She kept her feet moving, attempting to match his stride and maintain the distance between them. “Then why are we circling like a couple of boxers?”

“Fisticuffs? Last resort measures only. Besides, do you think your opponent is just going to nicely stay still—” A yellow light of something nasty zinged towards her, barely leaving her any reaction time to deflect it. “—so it’ll make hitting them ten times easier?”

She stayed silent. Talk was distracting, and she needed to strike before he hit her again with a barrage of spells. She sent a simple stunner his way and blinked when he didn’t bother deflecting, then scowled when she realized he was practically immune.

“You’ll have to do better than that, darling. Just pretend it’s a shielding charm. Anything but the Killing Curse I can take, but I’d prefer if you’d refrain from fire or cutting charms.”

She gritted her teeth, revulsion rolling through her at the idea of hitting him with anything beyond a stinging hex. He took advantage of her hesitation and stung her twice over before she could raise another shield. The welts began to throb as he forced her to move faster.

Jets of light shot back and forth between them as more and more places on her person were hit by invisible bees sent in little red sparks of light. Her breathing became labored the longer they went, and her magic began to strain with the effort. It was like a long unused muscle coming back to life and being worked out. Sweat rolled down her face and trickled down her back, absorbing into the jumper. Draco, however, hadn't even begun to turn pink. He looked perfectly normal as he waved his wand endlessly, firing off spell after spell after spell.

Suddenly they both called out a spell that met in the middle and reflected back upon their casters. Draco had already moved past the point where the reflecting spell would miss him entirely, but Hermione had frozen and took what should have blasted him off his feet directly to the chest. She flew backwards, landing on her back and bouncing as the air rushed out of her.

Her heart pounded and overtook her hearing as she tried to get her bearings. It made her jump in surprise when she finally opened her eyes to look up and see him standing directly over her, one foot on either side of her ribs. He crouched down and stuck his wand to her neck, eyebrow cocked.

She dropped her wand and raised her hands in surrender. She wasn’t sure what she expected, perhaps for him to check to make sure she was okay, but it certainly wasn’t an exasperated eyeroll.

“You gave in far too easy. I’m balanced on the balls of my feet, a precarious position, and you automatically surrender.”

“You had your wand to my neck! I would’ve been dead!”

“You certainly will be if you just give in. You  _ have _ to continue fighting. I just said a few minutes ago what you should save as a last resort method.” He stuck his wand in the holster on his arm. “We clearly have a lot of practice to do.”

Her hackles rose at that statement, and she clenched her jaw. She’d never taken criticism well and that clearly had not changed an iota.

His face softened, and he reached out a finger to trail it across her cheek tenderly, just below a welt.

“I didn’t hurt you too badly, did I? I didn’t anticipate us casting at the same time but it was too perfect a scenario to stop. I had to see what you’d do when you were down with nowhere else to go.”

“Next time I’ll be sure to do my best to claw your eyeballs out to compensate for my lack of action this time.” She dropped her head back to the ground and groaned. “I feel like I’ve been the recipient of a hundred bee stings and my bum hurts, along with my pride. I hate your idea, by the way.” She snatched her wand up and shoved it back inside her sleeve.

“You may hate it, but if you have a run-in with one of the wizards or witches from this new terrorist group without me, you need to be able to defend yourself at least enough to Apparate away.” He took her hands and pulled her to her feet.

Hermione closed her eyes and groaned as the muscles in her back complained. She needed to take up running again, having gotten out of the habit during her accident and then getting so busy with work and Draco that it’d fallen by the wayside. The constant, lingering anxiety that’d always existed in the back of her mind and had only ever been soothed by the exercise had gone away thanks to his presence, and she’d gotten lazy.

He pulled her into his arms and rubbed his hands up and down her back, soothing the hurt. “I think that’s enough for today. We’ll pick this back up tomorrow.”

She squashed her face against his chest and let a groan leak out. There were better ways to end up flat on her back. With a mental groan she shoved the thought away. Now was not the time for her to pursue that line of thinking.

“Let’s go in and get cleaned up. I have something to help with those stings.”

She nodded and turned with him, sliding her arm around his waist as he pulled her against his side. He walked her to her rooms and leaned against the doorframe, watching as she shuffled through the closet. She could practically feel it as his eyes roved across her back.

“You just need your robe, although if you want something for afterwards don’t let me stop you.”

A green tiered smock dress caught her eye, and she rubbed the soft fabric between her fingers. That hadn’t been there yesterday. She plucked it from its hanger and lay it across her arm. She’d never worn much green, except for the clothes she’d spelled to be so while on The Hunt.

“I’ll only be a few minutes.” 

At his nod, she went to the bathroom and shut the door. She peeled her clothes off and tossed them in the hamper before waving her wand towards the shower. By the time she was in the stall, the temperature was perfect. She hissed as she scrubbed, not realizing until now just how many times his spells had hit and the frequency of them.

She finished up quickly and dried off with the help of magic, donning her robe afterwards. He was still leaning against the doorframe, this time with a jar of pale green cream in his hands.

His eyes took her in from her toes up to the top of her head. “Take your robe off and lie on the bed.”

She bit her lip and pulled the garment open, letting it slide down her arms to gather at her wrists behind her before she tossed it across the trunk at the foot of the bed. The cool air pebbled her nipples.

“What was the point in even wearing it?”

“I wanted to watch you take it off for me.”

Her eyes cut to the side at his answer to see him silently moving in her direction. She spun to face him and backed towards the bed, sitting when the mattress hit the backs of her thighs. He was in front of her then, stepping between her open thighs until there was only an inch or so between them.

She looked up, noting his blown pupils and how there was very little gray left at all.

“Center of the bed,” he whispered.

She crawled backwards, watching as his eyes took in how her breasts swayed with the motion until she was finally in place. 

He placed the small jar between the valley of her breasts. “Don’t let that spill.”

Draco settled in at her side and gathered a dollop of cream with two fingers. She sniffed as he spread it between his palms, warming it. It smelled strongly of mint, so much so she couldn’t detect the underlying scents.

Her attention shifted to the feel of cool, tingling sensations as he started at her feet and worked his way up her legs, soothing each little welt. Slowly, the sore spots gave way to the icy sensations and faded out completely. He collected more cream in his hands, letting it warm again before working it into her hips, belly and up her rib cage.

She noticed that as it absorbed into her skin, it left her flesh exceptionally sensitive. A groan tore from her throat as he unexpectedly rubbed it into her breasts and nipples. Where they were normally sensitive, it was like she’d gained about a thousand extra nerve endings in the now stiffened peaks. 

He blew a cool breath across them, eliciting a whimper. 

The jar was suddenly gone, and her eyes flew back open to see him staring at her. “Flip.”

She rolled over, biting her lip as her exceptionally hard nipples dragged against the fabric of the duvet. “You know, it’s not exactly fair for me to be naked and you fully clothed.”

The clink of glass got her attention, and she cracked an eye open. He’d put the jar down on the nightstand and had already shed his waistcoat. His nimble fingers worked the buttons and he yanked it from his trousers, tossing it on the chair. Next came his belt, and she couldn’t stop herself from openly staring as the strip of black leather ran through his fingers as it whipped free from the belt loops. 

She bit her lip and remembered a dream months ago, one of the first inappropriate dreams she’d ever had featuring him. He’d spanked her in that dream and while she’d been fascinated then, it took everything in her to refrain from asking him to strike her with it just once to sate her curiosity. Belatedly, she noticed he’d stopped moving while she’d been caught up in thoughts of his belt and her eyes shot up to his.

“I can’t say I anticipated that.” A wolfish grin curled his lips. “We’ll have to experiment at a later time.”

A shiver ran down her back, and her toes curled.

The belt joined the rest of his things as he divested himself of his shoes, socks, and finally his trousers. He wasn’t wearing underwear, and his cock was more than half stiff. Her eyes drank him in, and she wanted to touch him, her fingers clenching the bottom of the pillow to keep herself from doing so.

“Happy?” he murmured as he climbed back on the bed to rest on his knees beside her.

She nodded rapidly. “Quite.”

He placed the jar on her back, and she didn’t have to be told this time not to let it tip over. He gave the back of her the same treatment, massaging in the cream from her toes up to her calves, thighs, and bum. He didn’t hesitate to rub it between her cheeks, and she whimpered as the tingling intensified as he caressed her puckered hole. Hermione had to focus to keep from moving back against him and knocking over the jar. He hadn’t said there would be consequences, but she somehow knew she wouldn’t be pleased with the outcome.

His hands disappeared to collect more cream, and he regretfully moved on, working the rest of it into her back. She pulled her hair out of the way as he worked the remainder into her neck, shoulders, and arms, saving her hands for last.

“Flip,” he rasped.

She did so as soon as she felt the glass leave her skin. The only place he hadn’t applied the cream was her clit, and she desperately, desperately wanted that remedied. She squeezed her thighs together to attempt some sort of relief.

“Ever since that first night, where you agreed to let me pleasure you, I’ve wanted to know what you look like when you wank.”

She licked her lips and whimpered. She’d fantasized about a similar scenario before and was now half regretting the request for him to strip.

He had just a bit of the cream left on his fingertips, likely gathered before the jar had been set aside. She watched as he spread the last bits across her mound, lips, and finally,  _ finally _ spreading them apart to apply the last smear to her clit. Almost instantly she wanted to press her knees together at the tingling, and if she’d thought it’d been intense on her nipples, she’d hadn’t at all been prepared for what it was doing to her most sensitive spot, and a strangled groan tore from her throat.

Her entire body was alight, able to feel everything from the cool air being pushed by the overhead fan to his warm breath as it ghosted over her calf as he settled himself between her thighs and raised her leg to kiss his way to the side of her knee.

“Will you do that for me, Hermione? Will you touch yourself and allow me to watch as you come apart?”

She clenched her fingers in the bedclothes and nodded. Anything he wanted.

Their only point of contact was the backs of her thighs as they lay across his own, ensuring she’d stay spread wide for the show she was about to give him.

She watched from under hooded eyes as she ran her fingertips along her chest, circling her breasts before pinching and plucking her nipples and whimpering at their sensitivity. Her heart pounded as she squeezed her breasts, trapping the nipples between two fingers and pinching them. 

His mouth was parted as his fingertips dragged along his thighs, his nails barely scratching. She clenched when she realized that she was going to get a show too. One hand released her breast to slither down her body between her thighs, and two fingers dipped between her lips to collect the moisture at her slit before returning to her clit. She was sure to spread herself wide so he could get a clear view of her rubbing light circles on her clit.

Whatever he’d used only required the lightest of touches to send pure pleasure shooting throughout her body. She bit her lip and whimpered with each movement

He licked his hand, and her eyes tracked the motion of his pink tongue as he laved each finger and finally his palm. Her stomach collapsed as her breath left her in a whoosh, the thought of where his tongue had been just a few days prior invading her thoughts. Finally, he dropped his hand down and wrapped it around his straining cock, pumping as his eyes traversed her body, focusing mainly on the fingers on her clit.

“Harder.” 

She pressed down a smidge more and shifted her hips.

“Almost,” he whispered.

Her back initially came off the bed when she complied, and she dipped her fingers back down to collect more lubricant before returning to the place of his fixation.

She watched him back, her eyes vacillating between his face, the muscles of his forearm, and his cock as he worked it.

He licked his lips as he studied her face a moment. “Pinch.”

She gently pinched, squeezing lightly, and she felt the beginning flutters in her sex.

“Good girl.”

With those words, she resumed rubbing, now at a frantic pace. It didn’t occur to her to become embarrassed at the slick sounds as she worked her clit fervently. The pleasure was borderline pain, and then she was flying, falling apart into a thousand pieces, and she cried out before collapsing into a quivering, trembling mess.

Moments later, when she was boneless, her fingers drenched and resting on her pelvis, she felt hot breath dance across her skin, and her eyes snapped back open.

He’d leaned across her, one hand planted next to her ribs. His cheeks were pink, and he was working himself at a pace that nearly matched hers. Then, almost as suddenly as she'd reached her own peak, he clenched his jaw and came across her stomach in hot spurts with a low groan, jaw clenched tightly.

His chest was heaving by the time he’d stopped and regained some sense of himself. His eyes tracked across the mess he’d made of her and that she’d made of herself before slowly meeting her gaze.

“I loved that,” she whispered before he could say anything.

His shoulders relaxed at her confession, and he wandlessly summoned his shirt, using it to clean the both of them before collapsing to the bed next to her and gathering her in his arms.

“We’ll have dinner later. You need to rest, seeing as you’ve expended more magic today than likely in the past month.”

She nodded, finally feeling the wave of exhaustion as it crashed across her.

“Library later,” she mumbled.

She felt, rather than saw his nod as she tucked her head underneath his chin. Tomorrow, she’d tell him tomorrow before he could wrangle her into an argument or ply orgasms from her or otherwise distract her from her goal.

“Sleep.”

And so she did.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> See you next Saturday <3


	25. Chapter 25

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so sorry this chapter is late. My birthday was Saturday, so there were birthday shenanigans that ensued over the weekend.
> 
> Huge thanks to my Alpha/Betas NuclearNik and Monica03, without them I would be a mess and this story would be a disaster. Also a huge thanks to my Omegas (pre-readers) MarshmallowMcGonagall, QuinTalon, and Weestarmeggie!
> 
> To everyone who reads, subscribes, bookmarks, comments/reviews, follows, reblogs, likes, etc: I appreciate you all SO VERY MUCH.
> 
> Also: I commissioned a piece from Avendell (WHICH IS GORGEOUS) to go along with Chapter 23. I've added it to that chap, but I also recommend going here to see the full sized piece: https://avendell.tumblr.com/post/621557222965657600/commission-for-the-lovely-noncanonlove-midnight

The morning seemed to stretch on forever despite the comfort of the back veranda and the fact that all Hermione had to do to see Draco was lean about six inches to the left. He’d taken up working at the dining room table when she’d breezed through the sitting room and informed him that she was going outside to have a think. 

Granted, she could only see the backside of him, but that was for the better or it would have been too much of a distraction. It’d been an uncomfortable exercise, but one she’d taken quite seriously because it’d been obvious how heavily it’d weighed on his mind the day prior. So she’d settled into the chair outside and let her mind wander down the different avenues.

The idea of being with anyone else aside from him now inspired revulsion, not that it’d been particularly appealing beforehand. Thoughts of existing without him provoked a physical ache behind her breastbone. She’d tried to decipher the different ways of living life without him, yet still provide him with enough exposure to keep him healthy. Inevitably she’d get distracted for stretches of time when she’d come across an idea for a future outing or activity and would then have to backtrack. 

After three hours, she’d managed to map out all the feasible possibilities of being without him and mentally sketched what those versions of life would look like.  _ Bleak _ and  _ unsatisfying  _ were the two prominent words that came to mind. The thought of having children with another man made her stomach turn and sexual encounters with anyone else were unfathomable. The idea of waking up next to someone else and living the tedium of life with them was equally appealing.

She shot to her feet, declaring the exercise done as she stalked back into the house. A tightness she hadn’t realized was there had settled across her back, shoulders, and thighs and roared to life with the sudden motion. Firmly ignoring it, she stayed her course, heading like a missile to the dining room. At the sound of her footsteps, Draco’s eyes rose from his work, brows drawn as he looked at her over the black rims of his glasses. She could only imagine what her face looked like. Perhaps as if she were about to march off to war.

As she rounded the table, he scooted his chair back as if to rise to greet her, but she got to him first, throwing a leg across him and planting herself directly in his lap. Draco leaned back, his hands going to her thighs and drifting up to her hips. She gripped his waistcoat with tight fingers.

“I have to tell you something.”

She did? Well, she  _ did _ , but that hadn’t been her original intention. May as well be, now. Two snidgets with one stone and all that.

Fingers tightened on her hips, and she lifted her eyes, letting them drift from his chest to his throat and finally to meeting his own.

The now rapid thudding of his heart could be felt under her palm.

_ Ba-bump ba-bump ba-bump _

Love-you love-you love-you

“What’s that?”

Breathe in.

Breathe out.

_ Ba-bump ba-bump ba-bump _

“I love you.” It felt like falling. It felt like flying.

He inhaled sharply through his nose, his fingers curving into claws and clamping down on her hips in a vise grip, his heart thundering beneath her hand.

“When?” It was a strangled wisp that slipped from his throat.

Teeth indented her bottom lip a moment before it slid free. “The morning of your confession. I woke up and rolled over to watch you sleep. When you settled back down in my arms, I was stroking your hair as your head lay on my chest and it hit me so hard I thought I’d never catch my breath.” It was a moment she’d never forget. Lying there warm, comfortable,  _ safe _ , with him wrapped around her, nearly clinging in sleep. “It’s been near impossible not to tell you because I wanted it to be in a moment where you would _ know _ that it wasn’t related to anything else. A thousand times I nearly blurted it out before now, but I do, Draco, I love you—”

One hand let go after a moment to race up her back and pull her against him, his mouth coming down and claiming hers in a bruising kiss as the breath he’d been holding whooshed back out of him. He pulled back to where their mouths were just brushing, and she felt him mouth something before devouring her in another kiss. He broke away to press their foreheads together.

“I love you.” His breath washed across her skin and while his voice didn’t tremble, his shoulders did for but a moment. The hand on her hip slid around to press against the small of her back.

She peeled her fingers from his waistcoat and slid her arms around his neck, clinging to him just as he was to her. Warmth and magic thrummed through her. The familiar tingle that’d danced across her skin when he’d cast the charm on her arm now pulsed with the rhythm of her heart as the first barest brushes of their magic began to intertwine. It was the formation of the thinnest thread, fine as spider’s silk, connecting them. She imagined if it was a tangible object, it’d be red.

As she breathed in the familiar scent of him, a thought flittered to the front of her mind, reminding her that there was something else she needed to tell him too. They’d touched on it at lunch a couple of days ago but had yet to discuss it again.

Despite the love she’d poured into her house, it was no longer a home. Home was safety, warmth, and security. Her defenses had been breached on more than one occasion and she could never trust it to be safe enough to sleep in her own bed again. Whoever was after her hadn’t only perverted holy magical wells, they’d also twisted and ruined her sanctuary. Her space had been sacred. It was where she’d learned to cobble herself back together the best she could after the war with what few resources were available. That is until Draco had taken her to France for proper medical attention.

She didn’t bother to lift her head, just spoke into the skin below his ear. “I’m ready to get the rest of my things from the house.”

He froze for a few moments, the silence stretching until something wriggled within her and made her doubt herself. Then he squeezed her a smidge tighter before relaxing back into his chair again. “Would today suffice? We only have one more left before we have to return to our office.”

She sat up, wrists crossed behind his neck, and studied him. He was serious, as he so often was. “Yes, if you’re not too busy.”

“I could just have Bumble and Bee go collect your things. Then we could stay here…” Fingertips traced down her spine as his eyes darkened. Warmth blossomed in her belly, and she sucked in a breath, forcing rational thought to override the near-instant desire.

She needed the closure that would come along with the act of wrapping things at her former home if she was going to move to the next phase of her life cleanly. “If we go now, I’ll make it worth your while later.”

He leaned in, skimming her cheek with the tip of his nose until he reached her ear. “I know you will.” Teeth sank lightly into her lobe, causing a shiver to jolt violently down her spine and her thighs to clench, squeezing his hips as she rocked forward into him again. He’d been hard under her for a while now and it had been tempting to grind against him.

“The sooner we go, the sooner we get back and continue this.” She rocked her hips forward into him, giving in to her desire for an instant before gathering every scrap of self-control left and standing up.

A low sigh of long suffering followed her ascent. She headed towards her room to collect some bags and her shoes, a low grumbling following her every step of the way. There was a particulardream she wanted to recreate when they got back, and she was certain he was going to enjoy it just as much as she.

Draco was waiting for her in the traveling room. “After I add you to the wards, you’ll be able to Apparate straight here without needing me to side-along you. The moon is at its fullest tonight, so we should do that. If you can manage to stay awake, that is.” A wicked grin curved his mouth.

Apparently she wasn’t the only one with plans. Another shiver of anticipation rolled through her, and his grin sharpened. Her hand slid into his and then they were turning into the void, hitting the ground just outside of her wards at the front gate.

It was immediately apparent something was wrong. His expression shifted, first to horror, then into Auror mode as he whipped his wand out and spun her behind him. It was then that she smelled the smoke and heard the crackle of fire. 

She peeked around him as he surveyed the area, casting detection spells. They were alone, however, and she suddenly remembered that there should be an Auror here, staying at her house. She’d completely blanked on everything going on outside of the case and her relationship. It was clear through the windows that the inside was filling up with smoke, the windows shuddering from the building pressure.

Pulling her own wand, she sent Patronuses to Harry and the Emergency Services Brigade before turning back to the flames. The way they shuddered and flicked unnaturally told her this wasn’t a normal fire, and perhaps they ought to leave it to the professionals. 

She made to move around him, only to have him mirror her. “Stay behind me.”

The prickling feel of eyes on her made the hair on the back of her neck stand up and she whirled, pressing her back to his, her wand out as she scanned the treeline and the field of tall grasses and brush. A hand rested on her hip, giving it a squeeze.

“We need to move to cover; standing out in the open like this is stupid.” Draco snagged her hand and guided her as she walked backwards around the flaming house to the greenhouses and her shed. They put their backs to the wooden building tucked up next to the greenhouse and scanned their surroundings.

The sight of a familiar pair of sneakers peeking out from behind two large butterfly bushes at the back of the house caught her attention and had her smacking at Draco’s arm, her voice having suddenly abandoned ship. 

“What?”

She pointed to the shoes and the jean-clad leg with trembling fingers. If she were to go over there, and flip the body over, she knew she’d see what she looked like in death. The Auror was obviously dead if Draco’s spells hadn’t alerted them to anything.”

“What are we going to do? The bushes are going to catch fire any second!”

“He’s dead, Granger, and his form won’t  _ ever _ revert. I’m not leaving you alone over here and the last thing you need to see is your doppelgänger after they’ve likely been murdered.”

She suspected it was also the last thing he needed to see either. Instead, she brandished her wand and waved it, then pointed. Her stomach rolled as the body slid through the grass, away from the house, as if it were slithering away. She focused on her breathing to keep the contents of that morning’s meager breakfast down.

After what seemed like eternity but what couldn’t have been more than ten minutes, Harry and a squad of wizards in red cloaks appeared. Hermione hadn’t accounted for the body to be in his line of sight when he arrived. The devastated look on his face as he began to stumble over to it erased all thought and reason. Her feet moved of their own accord, hand lifting as if she could physically stop him despite the gap. The fingers grasping the back of her jumper kept her from getting far. Curls flew as she whipped her head around to look over her shoulder.   
  
Blond brows were furrowed over stormy eyes, his lips pressed tightly together likely in an effort not to snap. “What did we _ just _ discuss??”

“But Harry.” Her still outstretched hand gestured weakly.

“Potter!” The bellow carried across the garden, stopping Harry from completing his journey to the cadaver and causing him to snap his head in their direction.

A visible wave of relief washed over him, as if cresting the top of his head and covering his face, rippling down his shoulders, spine, and the rest of him, nearly causing him to drop his wand as he sagged. He gave the body one last look before heading in their direction.

The Emergency Brigade had surrounded the house and were testing the magic running rampant. The fire glowed, dimmed, turned an ominous black, burst into sparkles, before finally one of the technicians figured out how to harness the magic, liberating it from the destructive force of nature. The force caused the structure to shudder violently and it locked her attention on it.

“What happened?”

“Don’t know. Granger decided she wanted to collect the rest of her things. When we got here the house was already on fire, and there was nobody alive within the bounds of the wards.”

The conversation behind her seemed as if it were happening underwater or in another room. The glass seemed to pulse with the heat and the building pressure. Words turned to fuzz as her vision tunneled on the flames raging and the heat that was radiating from the house. Part of her brain registered a wizard from behind a shield saying something. His mouth was moving as he waved his arm in their general direction. She couldn’t make it out and she couldn’t move, so she didn’t see what it mattered.

An arm wrapped around her waist, pulling her against a solid chest, and then her feet were off the ground entirely as Draco spun them around and used his free arm to bring the edge of his cloak up, covering both their heads as well as her face. His body shielded hers as something exploded inside, and her eyes slammed shut. The windows burst, raining shards out onto the lawn. His face was buried in her hair as it rippled from the shockwave.

When there was only the roar of fire behind them, he dropped the cloak and gently guided her back around. Her knees buckled and she sank to the ground, body and mind numb. The part of her that had at some point become constantly aware of him noted that he followed her down, not releasing her from his embrace.

Water gathered along her lids, coating her lashes before more joined the initial drip, and soon tears were coursing down her cheeks in a seemingly unending stream.

She was learning a lesson that should have sunk in during the war. Perhaps if she’d had the capacity to deal with anything else during that time her heart wouldn’t feel as if it were being squeezed in a vice-grip as the flames roared and stretched towards the heavens, rolling out the windows and upwards. The roof cracked completely and collapsed inwards. During the war, her home had been sent to Australia. Home had become Harry as they’d travelled on The Hunt with and then without Ron. For six years, home had been Hogwarts and it too had burned, but even then she’d found that the spirit of that home had resided in her classmates, her professors, and her Head of House.

Maybe now the lesson would finally sink in. 

Home was not a place; home was a person, and that person was kneeling behind her, his fingers interlaced with her own and his thumb stroking along her wrist as the other squeezed her waist. Serenity from the contact tried to soothe her, but it couldn’t quite overcome the devastation that possessed her in a hostile takeover. She could see now with hindsight that her problem had been that for a while, her home had simply resided in herself, and she’d poured that into the house she’d bought, muddling the two things.

_ It was just a house. It was just a house. It was just a house. _

But it had been  _ her _ house. All the dishes, special mustards, minute knick-knacks had all belonged to her and she’d just left most of it there, knowing this was a possibility. A keening sob leaked from her lips as the Emergency Services Brigade finally began to douse the flames. Draco’s arm was the only thing to keep her from sinking to the ground, and she collapsed back into him. The hand holding hers brought their arms up to rest their laced hands atop her chest, further pressing her back into him.

Her knees ached before her legs lost feeling altogether as the fire dwindled down until the flames finally succumbed to the force of the unending spray. The rubble that was left smoked but with a few spells, it was guaranteed not to reignite. The occasional pop and snap of wood as sections of the floor caved in accompanied the collapse of what was left of a wall. 

Hermione watched as Harry spoke to the Brigade, but soon her eyes tracked back across the lawn to the figure lying face down. Or rather, where the figure should have been. The indent was still visible as static filled her brain and she found herself unable to breathe. There were points of pressure dotting along the back of her hand, the garble of a voice at her ear, and her chest burned in the struggle to regain her breath, then darkness.

When she came back to herself it felt as if she were lying on her stomach on top of a cloud. Large warm hands rubbed along her back, up and down, up and down in a steady rhythm. Her eyelids felt as if iron weights were attached to them when she peeled them open again.

It wasn’t a cloud, but rather her bed they were lying on. Gray eyes burned into hers with a fiery intensity, and she wondered if anyone had ever told him that drawing his brows together so often the way he was wont to do would cause him wrinkles. Her fingers drifted up and stroked the space between his brows, her fingertips drifting up to near his hairline to partway down the bridge of his aristocratic nose before returning along the path. His expression smoothed after a few moments, and her fingers drifted across his forehead, down his temple, then to his jaw where her palm came to rest.

The slant of the light filtering through her windows told her it was late in the afternoon. Why were they in bed?

Details began to filter back in and the hand that had been rubbing soothing patterns rested atop of hers, which she didn’t even realize was trembling until that point.

“What happened?”

“What do you remember?”

“The fire, the dead Auror, Harry, the fire being put out and then…”

“There’s an investigative team there now with Potter at the helm, combing a five-mile radius. We’re not allowed to go back and before you fret, he placed a stasis charm over the greenhouses since Longbottom won’t be able to check in on your joint experiments until further notice.”

“Did they find—”

“Not yet.”

Her stomach twisted, and she schooled herself into taking deep, even breaths. When she began to falter he pulled her hands to his chest, picking up the steady pace she’d tried to set. The thud of his heart beneath her palm and the even rise and fall of his chest helped her find her own footing again. Her eyes locked onto the expanse of skin at the base of his throat where his tie currently wasn’t and two buttons had been undone until the static faded back away.

Her emotions had been all but dumped into a dryer and set on the max setting for both heat and time. She both never wanted to leave the Estate again and wanted to go out and track down the bastard who was so intent on ruining her life. A dozen spells she’d use should they cross paths flitted through her mind, and it wasn’t until she felt pressure on her hands that she realized that Draco was keeping her fingers from turning into claws.

“We’ll find whoever did this and all this bullshit will be over.”

She wanted to believe that to be true, but the hovering dark cloud that’d found its place over her head since the end of Fourth Year made her wonder if that would ever be true. Were Veela wings strong enough to save her from the storm? The weight of a thousand pounds made itself known on her shoulders, and she knew a distraction of some sort was in order or she was going to obsess until her mind shattered.

“I just want to forget about everything for a while.” She leaned in to nip the flesh normally hidden where the knot of his tie rested while she pressed herself against him from shin to shoulder. Draco was the only person that’d ever been able to halt all thoughts, wrangle every emotion when she needed it.

He tilted her chin up to study her, eyes narrowing in thought. “Is that so?”

“Yes.” It came out hoarse, and the corner of his mouth twitched.

“Then get your pink toy and meet me in my room.”

Heat flooded her cheeks as her eyes flew wide. “How did you—”

“When you were hurt the first time and I watched over you as you slept, the color caught my eye when you shifted the pillow next to you in your squirming, and so I put it away before Potter or Red could find it. It’s nothing to be ashamed of.” He leaned down to nip the tip of her nose before gracefully maneuvering over her and off the bed. He paused at the door to give her a last look over his shoulder before disappearing entirely.

The hammering of her heart changed tempo after it connected in her brain that he was interested in using the toy with her. If she could stay awake long enough to talk, she would have to ask him about wizarding sex toys in the dim of her bedroom. She rolled off the bed and went to her closet, using her wand to summon it.

His bedroom was yet an unknown, and she made her way there with nervous flutters in her belly. The door was open when she made it the few steps down the hall, and she peeked around the corner. The room was a light gray, decorated with expensive-looking wooden furniture embellished with exquisite scrollwork. His duvet and pillows were cream, rather than pure white. A bookshelf stood diagonally in a corner, holding two shelves of books, several picture frames, and a surprising amount of knick-knacks—momentos from trips and events, just like what she collected. What caught her attention the most was the leather armchair and a small side table that’d obviously just been moved in front of an enormous heavy-looking mirror.

He came out of the bathroom, his sleeves rolled to just above his elbows and a small jar of something blue in his hand. Her mind flashed to their last encounter, and she shivered. The movement, no matter how minute, must have caught his attention because he froze and drug his gaze across her.

“Come here.”

Slowly, she made her way across the room to meet him. He tilted her chin again, staring deep in her eyes as if searching for something. “Did you know that occasionally we share dreams?”

Her stomach plummeted. Her vivid imagination was rife with sordid fantasies. “No.”

“I try to remove myself when I realize it’s one of yours. I feel like I’m invading your privacy. But once, likely the first or second we’d ever shared, I didn’t realize it until it was far too late. Are your dreams reflective of your waking desires at all?”

She hesitated for a moment, biting her bottom lip. “I’m not sure. They’re fantasies I use sometimes to…”

“To wank to.”

Her cheeks flamed again. “Yes…”

“For someone so bold your shyness creeps up at the most interesting times.” He swallowed as he took her in. “Don’t ever hesitate to tell me no if there’s ever anything you find yourself not wanting to do.”

She nodded once.

“Promise me.”

Of course, he would utilize that. “I promise.”

“Would you be amenable to my adding a few items?”

Her eyebrows rose, and her heart thundered. “What did you have in mind?”

His eyes drifted over to the bedside table where a silver plug and what looked like two green pasties lay. She bit her lip and her fingers flexed around the pink vibrator she’d seemingly forgotten in her grip. “Oh.” 

“You don’t have—”

“It wasn’t a no. I’ve just… never done it. I would be open. To at least trying, that is.”

His eyes glimmered as he relieved her of the toy, laying it on the back of the chair. “Take off your clothes and lie on your stomach on the bed.” 

“I should probably go shower first.”

“Spell.”

Of course, there was a spell. She would feel better if she could have stood under steaming hot water for half an hour and thought about it, but apparently he knew her a bit too well to allow that. Obviously he wanted her in the moment instead of three steps ahead. After another shuddering breath, she stripped herself bare and lay on her belly as he requested.

He sat on the bed next to her hip and began to trace his fingers along her skin. There was a strange tingling that washed over her from the roots of her hair to the soles of her feet, and she felt as if she’d just been freshly scrubbed, a hint of the soap she preferred using even coming from the arm tucked under her cheek.

“Relax, this is another spell.” His voice was low and the tenor raised gooseflesh on her arms.

She was about to ask what he was about to do when a warm, slick sensation coated her puckered hole. The warmth continued inside, and she whimpered.  _ Oh _ .

His hands were gentle as they began to massage her upper thighs, cheeks, and lower back. She groaned when he squeezed the area where buttock met thigh and let her eyes fall closed. The rubdown continued until she was relaxed under his ministrations. One hand left her and pushed her thighs further apart, then his fingertips drifted up between her cheeks to gently rub the tight sphincter muscle for a few moments.

Lips brushed the shell of her ear. “Relax,” he whispered.

With great effort, she did her best to relax again as she’d been moments ago. Slowly, he breached her, inserting his finger past his middle knuckle and drawing a gasp and a whimper from her. His other hand drifted between her thighs, collecting moisture on the way, and found her clit, rubbing in slow circles and drawing out a low whine from her throat. 

“Alright?”

A slow nod. “It just feels strange, burns a bit.”

“Just stay relaxed, it’ll get better. Breathe.”

Breathing, she should breathe. Yes. Draco slowly pumped his finger in and out, allowing her to adjust to the sensation, and after the burning stopped it was replaced by a strange pleasure. Her fingers clenched the duvet when he slid out of her, and she tucked her face against the soft material.

“Relax, breathe,” he whispered. The plug felt much larger than what it’d looked as he slid it between her cheeks, teasing her, but perhaps that was all in her head.

The tip pressed against her with gentle pressure until it began to slide in. His fingers on her clit moved faster, increasing pressure. The breath she sucked in hissed as it dragged between clenched teeth. He stopped and pulled back until it was almost out before repeating the motion. The pleasure derived from his fingers working her offset the discomfort of the foreign stretch just enough to make it tolerable. Then with one long stroke and a whine, he slid it fully home. She jerked against his hand from the flash of pain when the most bulbous part stretched her past the point of discomfort.

“Good girl. Up on your knees.”

Slowly, she pulled her knees up and under her, pushing her bottom up into the hair while her shoulders remained on the bed. 

He muttered another cleaning spell, and she groaned as two fingers slid effortlessly inside her cunt, thrusting and curling; she’d never felt so deliciously filled.

“How do you feel?”

“Full.” Her voice quivered.

“Do you like it?”

She nodded her head rapidly, groaning as he hit just the right spot. Her thighs trembled as she teetered on the cusp. So caught up in what he was doing to her, she forgot to be embarrassed by the wet sounds of his hands at work.

“Do you want to come?”

Another frantic nod.

“What do you say?”

“Please!”

“Good girl, you may.”

She hadn’t even been aware she was waiting for that but as soon as he said it, she was screaming into the bedding, shaking as her orgasm rocked through her. When she was catching her breath and coming back down, his hands slid from her, and she whimpered.

“We’re not finished, don’t worry.” 

He leaned over and nipped her left cheek and she clenched whimpering as she gripped the plug.

“Come over to my chair.”

She pushed up on her hands and froze. “Um, will it…”

“It shouldn’t come out, but I can give you a bit more security with it if you need.”

A thumb stroked along her hip, and she nodded. Warmth trailed down her spine under the contact of his wand until it reached the base of the plug, which he tapped three times. Slowly, it increased in size bit by bit, stretching her further, and she shifted from one knee to the other, letting out a ragged breath when it stopped again.

“Better?”

Another nod. The click of his boots on the hardwood and the creak of leather let her know he was waiting. She slid off the bed and carefully made her way over, adapting to the sensations of moving with it until she was in front of him. He was fully clothed still, and her fingers twitched. Warm hands gripped her hips and spun her around, guiding her to sit in his lap, thighs on the outside of his own. He pulled her back until she was reclined against his chest and let his knees fall open.

“Look.” Hot breath danced across her skin, and she turned her attention to the mirror. She was spread wide and on display. 

“Watch.” He picked up the jar from the arm of the chair and got a dollop on two fingers before capping it and setting it on the floor. The cream felt cold as he spread it across each nipple, forming them into stiff peaks and then applying the flower-shaped pasties. A wand wiggle had her gasping again at the new sensation of being suckled. She couldn’t stop her squirm. 

“There’s a whole world of things I want to introduce you to. Magic can be truly wondrous.” Silver eyes glittered as they watched one another in the mirror. He reached behind his head and produced the hot pink vibe, dragging it down her abdomen and clicking it on with his thumb when it drifted across her pelvis, then between her legs. Two clicks had it on a low setting, and she arched her back as he slipped it against her still sensitive clit.

A plethora of sensations rocked her body, her mind not able to decide which one to fully latch ahold of. She rocked her hips and groaned as the plug pushed further in, the base flush against her. Teeth scraped across her neck as he suckled the spot, laving it with his tongue. The material of his trousers, the buttons of his waistcoat, and softness of his shirt felt amplified against her naked skin. Another click and the vibrations intensified, causing her to jerk again.

“You’ve already got permission.”

He pressed it more firmly against her, and she collapsed back against him as another orgasm slammed through her. Her fingers gripped the chair weakly as she fought for breath and attempted to shy away, now overly sensitive. He pulled it back a fraction, sliding it up and down along her slit, then her thighs, leaving a trail of slick come in its wake. It wasn’t long, however, before he was pressing it back to her slick, swollen nub again, disregarding her whine.

“I can’t.”

“Yes, you can. Now watch.” She hadn’t realized she’d looked away.

The pink of the silicone stood out against the paleness of his hand as he rubbed it in a pattern of short presses, then a long one, then several more short ones and another long. He left trails of opened-mouthed kisses and love bites along her shoulder and neck, his other hand clamped on her hip to keep her in place as he clicked up the intensity again.

Maybe she could come one last time for him. Her hips shifted to rub against it, and a dark groan came from the juncture of her neck and shoulder, her eyes flicking to him, watching him as he watched her. He was impossibly hard beneath her, barely restraining himself from rolling his hips into her. The next orgasm hit her out of nowhere, her walls clenching around nothing and her nails digging into the leather until the world came back into focus.

“Merlin, I love hearing you scream like that.”

Quickly she noticed he hadn’t pulled the toy away. It was almost borderline painful at this point, and her hips pulled back as a sob worked its way up out of her throat. “No more, I can’t.”

“One more, just give me one more.”

“I  _ can’t _ !” Her grip was almost nonexistent as she tried to push his arm away, but it may as well have been made of lead.

“Hermione.” The sound of her name dropping from his lips with such patient reverence had her meeting his eyes again. “Don’t you want to be my good girl?”

“Yes.” It was a broken sob that slid from her as she answered and dropped her head back against his shoulder in submission, the hand on his arm clinging now instead of trying to remove him. He clicked two more times and the pleasure teetered on pain as she lay limp in his arms, shaking, nearly crying as he worked her into another fever pitch, his mouth to her ear whispering filthy things he wanted to do to her. It was as if she could feel every single cell in her body, and it wasn’t until his teeth sank into the juncture of her shoulder that she was sure she’d be able to give him the last one, but then it was as if a bomb detonated. Fireworks erupted behind her eyelids with the force of how tightly she squeezed them as she convulsed and shook, boneless and nearly unable to move.

The relief as he clicked off the toy and set it to the side was palpable. She was able to fully relax against him as the tremors slowly faded from her muscles and she could slowly regain her breath. Fingers on her chin guided her face to the side where he kissed her gently, over and over between whispered thanks. He shifted her to the side, helping her curl up against him. The burn in her thighs where she’d had them tense and spread so long made her hiss as she pulled them back together, ignoring the mess on her skin.

“Nothing a hot shower here in a few minutes won’t help. Did you like it?”

She nodded. “I never knew it could be like that. The intensity… It was overwhelming, being able to feel so much all at once.”

His mouth curled against her skin. “Think you can walk? Or do you need me to carry you to the shower?”

“What about you?” She continued on at his blank look. “Aren’t you going to come?”

“This was purely for you. I can take care of myself later.”

“I want you to be able to get something out of it too.” Shifting out of his grip, she slithered down between his feet to her knees on the floor. Her eyes trailed across his straining cock then noticed the wet splotches. She bit her lip and debated apologizing for ruining his trousers when his fingers popped open the button and slid the zipper down. 

He lifted up and shoved his pants down just far enough to clear his erection. His hand moved towards his cock when she rose up on her knees, catching it and lacing their fingers together. She licked a stripe up his cock before taking him in her mouth as far as she could go. A hiss tore from between his teeth as she engulfed him, and fingers gripped her hair as she began to pump up and down what her mouth couldn’t take.

“ _ Fuck _ . I was going to take care of it.” It came out breathless but not as a complaint.

She’d wanted to suck his cock again since the first time he’d let her. Her head bobbed up and down, her hair gathered and held back in his fist. He was heavy, throbbing on her tongue, and she knew he wouldn’t last, not with the way she’d rubbed herself against him the entire time they’d been in the chair. She began to hum when he jerked, barely keeping himself from shoving himself down her throat.

“I’m about to…”

She pulled her mouth away and worked his cock with her hand, positioning her face directly in front of him. He wrapped his hand around hers, guiding her as the other grasped her jaw, holding her still until he erupted with a shout, thick spurts of come coating her cheeks.

Now it was his turn to collapse back in the seat, but he was unable to pull his eyes from the sight of her coated face. 

“Since we were completing fantasies, I thought I’d take care of that one too.” She rested her head against his thigh as they both recovered, his thumb stroking along her sore jaw.

After he was able to move again, he divested himself of his clothing and pulled her from her knees, leading her to his shower where he removed the toys and scrubbed every inch of her clean. Afterwards, when they were in his bed, clean, warm, and exhausted, her eyes drifted to his and it occurred to her that even if he couldn’t save her from it, he would weather it with her unerringly. And really? That was all she actually needed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> See you all on Saturday!


	26. Chapter 26

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> So, I wanted to take a second and talk about the update schedule. I will do my very, very, very best to have it out on Saturday for the last half of the story, but there may be sometimes where it posts on Sunday or at worst, Monday. This is due to a lot of factors, but mainly the way my work schedule works anymore.
> 
> Thank you so much for the birthday wishes! I appreciated them! <3
> 
> Huge thanks to my Alpha/Betas NuclearNik and Monica03, without them I would be a mess and this story would be a disaster. Also a huge thanks to my Omegas (pre-readers) MarshmallowMcGonagall, QuinTalon, and Weestarmeggie!
> 
> To everyone who reads, subscribes, bookmarks, comments/reviews, follows, reblogs, likes, etc: I appreciate you all SO VERY MUCH.

Time had been strange since Hermione had been unconscious for a few hours, then awake for the time spent with Draco before sleep had claimed her again. He woke her just prior to midnight, dressed her in the button-down pajama shirt that matched the bottoms he was wearing, and led her to the cellar in the dancing light of a candelabra. In the very center of the main room was a stone plinth topped with a basin covered in runes. It reminded her of a pensieve except it was far too shallow. 

She rubbed the last of the sleep from her eyes and noticed the small leather bag clutched in his other hand. “What’s that?” 

“So. When it comes to Old Magic: rituals, sacrifices, and the like are used instead of just whipping our wands out and wiggling them. Technically we could do it that way, but it doesn’t quite cut it in comparison to doing it properly when it comes to end results. We want the Estate to include you in all of its ancient protections and benefits.”

Fascinating. “Benefits?”

“While within the wards, you can never get lost no matter how deep into the woods you wander or how far beneath the surface of the lake you swim. Instinct will always lead you back, so if you happen to find yourself lost, stop thinking and allow your feet to return you.” He conjured a small table and laid out an array of items similar to the night of the tarot reading. 

“How does that work?” A hundred additional questions pressed against the backs of her teeth.

The tip of a silver knife pointed toward the rune-covered stone. “This plinth encases a keystone, where all the magic over the centuries of wizards and witches living here has been absorbed. It’s where the wards and other enchantments draw power from. Every time you cast a spell, a part of that energy wends through the house and finds its way here. So, as Mother explained the other night, in order for you to gain something from that magic, you must sacrifice something. Give something in kind.”

“Does this one involve chanting?” Fingers clenched in the soft, rich fabric of his pajama top where it rested around her thighs. This was exciting.

His lips quirked at the corners. “No, just the small sacrifice.”

Her eyes darted around for an animal, thoughts going back to the bowl of what was likely freshly harvested meat and organs that had been used in the ritual she witnessed but found nothing.

Outside of their breathing, the grind of the mortar and pestle was the only other sound in the spacious cellar. It was eerie in the flickering of the candlelight. The shadows danced and swayed, playing tricks with her eyes and mind until Draco recaptured her attention by emptying the bowl into the basin. After that, he added the bell-shaped blooms from sprigs of white heather and chased them with hawthorn bark and chunks of vine.

“Did you know that the hawthorn tree represents love and protection?” His voice carried easily despite the low volume.

“No.”

“I haven’t done the best job of that in the past. Especially in regards to you.” He froze for the briefest moment, his eyes darting to the dark mark on display as his left hand extended over the bowl where he was crumbling the bark. The dancing flames of the candlelight made him hard to read, but if she had a guess, self-loathing was coiling within him, wrapping around something to constrict. “Vine represents determination, endurance, and survival. Your wand clearly knew what it was doing when it chose you, at least.”

“Draco…”

“You don’t know what I’m capable of, Hermione. Not really. The things I’ve done. There’s a _reason_ I told you that neither I nor the Wizarding World would ever forget nor forgive.” He shook his head, dispelling the haunted look. “You deserve so much better.”

“You speak as if you’re not a good man.” Her heart rose in her throat.

“The mark on my arm proves I’m not.”

“The world isn’t divided into good people and Death Eaters, Draco.” The memory of the last time she’d seen Sirius Black before his murder flashed in her mind.

The barest huff of dark laughter floated from his mouth.

She stepped up behind him, sliding her arms around his waist and pressing herself against him, resting her cheek against the bare skin between his shoulder blades. She refused to argue about this. If he still didn’t believe it, she would just have to continue doing it for the both of them until the realization dawned on his stubborn ass. “I said what I said. Nothing you can say will change my mind.”

He paused again, reanimating with the click of teeth as he shut his mouth. His right hand left the plinth and rested atop of hers as they lay splayed and fingers fitted between one another at his navel. It took her a moment to recognize that the new feeling emanating from his skin was gratitude. He audibly swallowed and resumed adding ingredients.

The silver knife was produced again. “Alright, step around here.” He guided her until she was directly across from him, then put the knife in her hand. “I cannot take the blood from you, because then it wouldn’t be a sacrifice. It doesn’t need much, just a few drops, so don’t go wild. Then I’ll heal you. You’ll do this after I light the fire.”

It was smooth in her grip, and her fingers tightened around it. He lit a match and dropped it in, bright blue flames springing to life, then looked to her and nodded. She pressed the sharp tip to the center of her palm and dragged it half an inch across, disregarding the sting. Blood quickly welled from the wound and she held her hand palm down over the fire, pulling her fingers back, opening the gap further and watching as the drops dripped silently into the fire.

She was so enamored by the ethereal flames that she didn’t see his hand reaching for hers until the soft fabric of a handkerchief was pressed tightly against her palm by his fingertips. His thumb rested across the back of her knuckles, and her fingers fell loosely closed around his. Hermione couldn’t say why, but she reached out for his other hand and he almost seemed surprised by it before lacing their fingers together.

As the fire devoured the contents, a tingle began at her toes and worked upwards as the smokeless flame reduced in size. The tingling reached the very top of her head and just as the fire was absorbed into the stone, a rush of wind descended upon her, ruffling her hair and clothes before dying out. The basin was empty as if nothing had ever occurred. A curious tingle ignited in her belly, and her brows scrunched together.

“Feel it?”

She nodded.

“That means it worked. Another advantage is that now you can draw magic from the grounds should you need it. Every spell you cast on these grounds fed it, but now it’s open for you to pull from since it’s connected to you through your sacrifice.” He pulled her to the side, where nothing was between them anymore. The handkerchief slid away and he trailed his fingertip across the gap, the skin knitting cleanly and fading as if nothing happened. She wouldn’t even have a scar.

Something occurred to her. “What sort of power are we talking about?” 

“Enough that neither of us would be able to use it up even if we lived to be five hundred.”

A scowl settled across her face. “No wonder you weren’t even winded after our duel.” She snatched her hand out of his and took a step back. “Cheating!”

He scoffed and followed her, grabbing her waist. “We could go out and duel in the middle of Diagon, Granger, and the result would be the same. I’m part beast, my magical well is far deeper than yours because of it.”

“You’re _not_ a beast.” She pursed her lips and jabbed him in the chest with her finger. 

It explained why he could take most any sort of spell and the damage would be minimal. She swallowed down a sigh. It’s not like it was his fault.

“Do you want to go back to bed?” He ignored her objection and pulled her forward, her thighs barely brushing against his pajama pants.

“I don’t feel particularly tired but I should at least try so my sleep schedule doesn’t get screwed up too badly. I don’t imagine I’d cope with it well now that I know what good sleep is li—” Her reply morphed into a squawk as he unexpectedly spun her to the side and scooped her up in his arms. On instinct, her arms went around his neck. If she’d thought about it, she may have just wrapped her hands around it for startling her.

“I _can_ walk you know.”

He merely shrugged and took off walking. The candelabra floated along behind them, casting long shadows and making him seem impossibly tall.

All was still and silent in the enormous house, making the sight of swaying branches through the windows noticeable. She started when lightning flashed and the accompanying thunder boomed overhead. He snickered, then full out laughed when she scowled at him. Her hand darted down and pinched his nipple, then she smirked when he jerked just as she had.

“You’ll regret that.”

“I’m sure.” It occurred to her, too late, that he’d left her covered in welts the other day even though the remedy had been delicious.

“Famous last words.” There was promise there, and she shivered as his hand squeezed her thigh.

The bedclothes were neat and turned down, making it easy for him to tuck her in. She rolled to her side and wondered if the elves would accept some sort of thank you, even if it was as simple as a batch of cookies. He circled the bed and climbed in on the other side, mirroring her. A fingertip stroked along the back of her hand as he watched her.

His words from earlier came back and reverberated around her skull until she couldn’t contain it anymore. “You’re not a fucking beast,” she whispered, catching his hand and clutching it tightly as it started to slide away. “You’re _Draco Malfoy,_ and _I love you_.”

He exhaled harshly through his nose, studying her with stormy eyes. She realized that she was likely bombarding him with her riotous emotions and dropped his hand as if her touch was burning him. It dawned on her that he’d always felt what she was feeling every time he’d touched her and had done what he could to mitigate the overwhelming emotion. She should go back to her own bed until she could get the tsunami inside her under control.

She flipped over and was halfway sat up when one arm slid around her waist and the other came across her chest like a seatbelt strap and pulled her against him. The pounding of his heart could be felt against her back.

“Where were you running off to?” The hair next to her ear that’d come loose from her braid rippled with his breath and a shiver shot down her spine.

“I wasn’t running.”

“Oh? Skipping off to the loo then?” The sarcasm was sharp enough to cut.

“No. It’s probably better if I return to my bed for the night.” Her fingers pleated the sheets.

“As I said, Granger, _running away_.”

“I’m _not_! I just realized that you’ve been able to feel everything this entire time. That you’ve siphoned away every negative and overwhelming emotion until I can cope again.”

He froze, then pulled her more firmly against him. “I thought you already knew, or I’d have told you.”

She shook her head. “I thought it was just a side effect of our connection until earlier. Every other time had been something I needed, but when I was pressed against you, you sent me something intentionally.” Looking at the overall situation she realized just how mentally tired she was to have just now connected those dots. The events she was refusing to think on clearly still weighed heavily on her psyche.

“It wasn’t my intention to keep that from you; I hope you know that.” A new emotion slid through her and it took her a minute before she could identify it as sincerity. 

“I believe you. I’m clearly still affected by—” She waved her hand in the general direction of the windows.

“Of course you are. Merlin, Granger, you’ve had no time to process and deal with it. Just—” 

“Which is why I should probably sleep in my own bed. I’m barely able to contain this, this overwhelming—”

“Don’t go.” His voice was hoarse, ragged.

“I don’t want to bombard you with this. You’ll never get any sleep if I stay here, sending you this tidal wave of emotions with every breath.”

“I certainly won’t get any without you here, so there’s no point in you _running away_.”

“I’m _not_ running away! I’m trying to spare you this mess.” She wriggled in his arms, attempting to slide down, but the arm across her chest kept her locked in place.

“I don’t need to be spared _anything_ .” Her mouth opened but before anything could come out he rushed on ahead. “ _Not_ like _that_ . I’m your _mate_ , I’m designed and equipped to take perfect care of you. More than that, I _want to_ , damn it, so stop trying to run off and let me help you, stubborn witch.” He leant down and nipped her shoulder through the fabric, making her gasp and then freeze.

“Won’t it be exhausting?” Merlin knew it was for her.

“Lying in bed with you like we are now is quite restful. How do you think this works?”

She clenched her jaw and scowled. “Why don’t you explain it to me?” Before she had a chance to make herself look even more stupid.

He rubbed the tip of his nose along the sensitive spot underneath her ear, occasionally kissing it. “I’m gathering that you think you bombard me with any emotion you’re feeling and I'm susceptible to it, but that’s not quite right. You have to have intent for me to feel it, rather than just experiencing or being swept up in it just because you are. Yes, I can feel it. No, it does not overtake me. I siphon some of it from you by choice, but mainly I just lend you some calm or serenity until you can regain your footing _yourself_.”

“That’s not possible. I can’t. I _cannot_ do that.”

“ _Yes_ , you can. You always have before.”

That didn’t make any sense. She hadn’t been able to take control of her own emotional state in years. Rather, the inverse had happened. She relaxed back into him, the additional tension bleeding from her body despite the storm still raging throughout her system. If that was so, however, that meant she could stay here, with him. 

He nudged her until she rolled over to face him. “Unbutton your shirt.”

The buttons felt too small in her trembling fingers, but eventually, the fabric fell open. He pushed it from her shoulders and guided her arm around his neck until she got the idea and wrapped them around him, pressing close and reveling in the warmth. His hand slid down behind her knee and hitched it over his hip, where she tightened and pressed herself entirely to him, his arms holding her close. 

“You don’t want to hear this but I’m going to say it anyway, even if it makes you fire-breathing angry. Your biggest problem is that you run away from the emotions because before, you couldn’t cope with them, so you just did what you had to to survive and it’s become a habit. Stop running and square with it.”

“I ca—”

“Do not give me that ‘ _I can’t_ ’ bullshit. You can, Hermione.”

She wanted to rebuke the accusation that she ran from the problem but it was too close to the truth, and she liked to think that she wasn’t totally oblivious _to_ said truth. Wouldn’t have reacted so strongly to his accusation when she’d been trying to leave.

“I don’t know how.” There was never a worse feeling than admitting she lacked the ability to do something, but with him, it felt more like asking for his help than a defeat.

“You have to experience whatever it is you feel about these things. Anger, hate, rage, grief, fear, anguish, whatever. I’ve always sent you comfort before, because you weren’t ready to cope, but now you _are_ . I’m not going to send you anything tonight, but that doesn’t mean I’m not available to be drawn from if you truly need it. I’m here, _right here_ .” His arms squeezed her for a moment. “I’ve got you, but you _can_ do this.”

Despite the additional physical contact, the usual waves didn’t come to wash everything away. It lapped at her, like the sea over her feet and ankles when she would walk on the beach on holiday. It sparked the realization that she didn’t _have_ to dive into the deep end and wash away everything else. How was she ever going to cope properly if all she did was clean the wound, then cover it back up to continue festering? It was simple, she wouldn’t, and until she learned how to again, her life would never come back to normal. 

Until then, she would never be the one in control. Not really.

“Breathe.”

She took a deep breath, and he matched her, then again and again. His hands slid up and down her back as she began working through the emotions and letting herself feel. Flashes of her house burning ripped through her thoughts; she could vividly recall the smell of the smoke and feel of the heat as it roiled off in waves. A wave of grief slammed across her, and in turn, she drew the slightest thread of comfort from him and in the end, it did not drag her beneath the surface. Warm fingers cupped the back of her neck, and she pressed her face further against him, tears transferring to his skin as she sobbed in great shuddering breaths. 

It could have been hours that she lay in his arms, allowing the feelings to take their course, but not own her as she clung to him. She finally figured out how to stop drowning and learned to tread water. Her tears had run dry and she felt empty, but for the first time since Hogwarts, she felt in control. Draco may not have been the one to have fixed her, but it was clear that he was the rock she could hold on to to weather the waves rather than getting sucked into the riptide or being completely shielded from the storm. In the end, she had done it herself.

Her limbs felt like lead, eyes dry, her body a deadweight.

“Feel better?” Warm breath ruffled her hair.

She nodded. “I love you.”

“I love you.” He tilted her head back and pressed his lips to hers once, then again. “You should sleep if you still want to go to The Hovel and not look a banshee.”

She nipped his chin but couldn’t help the huff of laughter. “It’s The Burrow. And thank you.”

“For insulting you? I wasn’t aware you had a degradation kink, Granger. I’ll make a note of that.” 

“Ugh, you _complete arse_ , I meant for—”

“I thought you were going to sleep?”

She was tempted to stay awake both out of spite and for him interrupting her, but the hands that were still rubbing that relaxing cadence were already persuading her to comply. “Fine, this time I will. Consider it your sole win.”

A chuckle brushed against her scalp as he settled in around her, and she closed her eyes. Before succumbing to the darkness, it occurred to her that Draco likely wouldn’t say those words often, but he’d never hold back when he knew she really needed to hear it.

Daylight was peeking in the windows when she woke again, this time alone. As she stretched, she realized how much lighter, more _alive_ she felt. She supposed learning how not to drown would do that to a person.

She readied herself for the day and when she passed the dining room table, she found a plain white cube of a box and a note on top. Draco had gotten a hostess gift for her to give to Molly— that she was not to peek at and he was visiting his mother and aunt before they departed for Iceland. The last words scratched on the parchment were a reminder to not forget they had a dueling date. Ugh, dueling. How entirely unromantic.

The paper went in her pocket and now with her curiosity on fire, she attempted to open the box, except it wouldn’t comply and stayed stubbornly shut. She huffed, now positive that he’d only done that to frustrate her. It was a charm she knew where only the recipient could open it or else the entire package would have to be destroyed to get to the contents.

She gave up, gathered her things, and went to the traveling room and through the Floo. The Burrow was as warm, comforting, and homelike as it’d ever been. Molly greeted her upon arrival and it wasn’t until the other woman had opened the box in the kitchen that Hermione realized she hadn’t given it a passing thought what Draco might send along. Turned out, it was an upscale charcuterie tray with a keg bottle of fine wine. Leave it to wizards to ban extension charms that didn’t get prior Ministry approval, yet leave it open to manufacturers to exploit. The box itself had apparently been blessed with the same thing because Molly pulled out tray after tray of meats, cheeses, pickles, and the like. It was enough for a house of guests, which was handy because the entire clan plus friends were supposed to converge on the property at any minute. It’d be her first real test as to how far she’d come. 

The day went quite well, much to her relief. She was able to socialize, eat, play games, and relax with her friends in a way that nine months prior would have been impossible. The day wore on and while she enjoyed herself, far more than once she’d caught herself turning her head to speak to someone who wasn’t with her. The first time it had happened had been an hour after her arrival, and ever since then her awareness of his absence steadily grew. Not even Ron’s return from a several month’s long mission abroad could fill the gap despite the pockets of time where it was just the three of them, heads close together and talking like old times.

Their dueling date wasn’t until five, but at three o’clock she found her feet itchy to be on her way home. So she bade her friends farewell and gave hugs all around. When she made to enter the house, Molly caught her and pulled her to the side.

“Hermione, dear. I just wanted to say that I noticed how much better you’re doing. Ginny told me about it, and I just wanted to let you know that I’m so glad to see you getting back to the happy young woman from before. Don’t be a stranger dear.” Molly hugged her and then headed out into the yard.

Hermione didn’t mind Ginny telling her mother, and she hoped that maybe it would make the woman reconsider her position on therapy. In any case, the Weasley matron seemed back to her normal treatment of her and not for the first time, Hermione was glad to have remained only an honorary family member. 

To get to the Floo, she had to pass hugs out to most of the Weasley men, Lee Jordan, and Seamus Finnigan. Before anyone else could delay her, she stepped into the Floo and spun away. When she stepped out of the Floo, a grin curved her lips. There was no logic to it, but she could just tell he was home. She quickly shucked her cloak, used her wand to remove any residual soot, and headed out in search of Draco. 

Instincts lead her to the back veranda, where she saw him standing out in the lawn, waving his wand about to little effect. He was in his usual three-piece suit, but without the jacket and tie, his sleeves rolled up just above his elbows. His shoulders were tense, back ramrod straight. Before he could have another go, his head turned sharply in her direction, then he pocketed his wand and turned.

“You’re home early. Everything alright?”

“Yes, it was fun. Thank you for your gift, by the way, they appreciated it. I just missed you and was ready to come home...”

He started towards her at the utterance of those words, determination in his step. He was nearly upon her when he froze again. Nostrils flared as he inhaled, his eyes turned from soft gray to silver. Something shifted behind his gaze, and she had the urge to back away. Instinctually, she froze and watched as he closed the distance in two slow steps, then dipped his head down to the juncture of her neck and shoulder, sucking a lung-full in through his nose. He straightened again, eyes glittering and the hair at the nape of her neck stood on end.

“Who all did you say was there?” His fingers tapped benignly over where his wand rested.

“There were loads of people, Draco. Why?” Something was wrong.

“I’m just curious as to why you smell so strongly like other men.” His pupils had reduced to pinpricks.

“What?!”

His fingers had curled and were rubbing at the palms of his hands as if he were refraining from grabbing ahold of her.

“You’re not hard of hearing, Granger, and you’re certainly not stupid. Just tell me who it was and I’ll take care of them.”

It was as if a glow had settled upon his skin, like the faintest moonlight and his fists were clenched and trembling. Something clicked in her brain from the journal she’d read.

According to Draco’s great-great-great-great grandfather, the Veela aspect overcomes all sense and reason if they think their mate is in danger, or if another has touched their unclaimed mate.

They’d yet to consummate the mating bond. The ring on her finger claimed her as his, but biologically it wasn’t enough. Once complete, Draco would probably have the propensity to be jealous, but he wouldn’t be biologically motivated to go rip throats out.

He shuddered, and if she didn’t intervene soon she’d find out what his wings looked like and then she’d be fucked in a completely different way seeing as he could take to the air and the only way that would end was a fight at The Burrow.

“You could just give me your jumper, and I could figure it out for myself.” Her attention fell to his extended hand, and she swallowed. It could be her mind playing tricks, but his nails seemed to have grown and sharpened into small points, as if he were forming claws. When transformed, Full Veela had claw-like fingers, so she could only deduce that it was the manifestation of his gene blend.

If scent triggered the Veela biology, then surely the same thing could undo it. She backed away first one step, then two, her heart slammed against her ribs as his eyes narrowed. The word predator flashed in her mind like a neon light. She turned and ran back to the house, slamming the door behind her as she bolted through it.

It never met the frame, which meant either he caught it or his magic did. She could barely make out the click of boots over the roar in her ears as he followed after her, although he was walking at a much more benign pace. Likely because she was boxing herself in and he had the full capability of disarming or catching her before she Disapparated. The door to the traveling room slammed shut, the lock clicking into place. She didn’t even blink, her destination around the corner. She had one shot at fixing the situation. 

Fingers scrabbled at the door frame as she swung through it, eyes darting wildly around the room. The bed was made, but by sheer luck, the shirt she’d folded and lay on the back of the chair they’d used was still there. She dove for it and her fingers just closed around it when the bedroom door slammed shut, the lock clicking.

Whirling around, she squeaked when she saw he was mere feet away. She’d expected him to be across the large room still and started backing away. He stalked after her, long legs eating up the distance and she gasped when her legs hit the back of the bed and she fell. She bounced but did not stop moving, crawling backwards. Draco didn’t slow even when he reached the bed, smoothly transitioning to crawling on his hands and knees after her, bare forearms flexing with the movement. It was reminiscent of a tiger she’d seen stalking prey on television.

She stopped and watched with her heart hammering as he crawled over her and hovered, studying her from his vantage point. He would never hurt her, she knew this but she didn’t fear for herself. He leant down and drug the tip of his nose along her jaw before hovering inches above her mouth.

“I must confess, the temptation to devour you is almost irresistible.”

His pupils had blown wide and he was now looking at her with a different sort of hunger. If she didn’t know that he wanted to wait for whatever magical phenomena he had in mind, she would pursue that avenue wholeheartedly. He dipped his head down and kissed her slow once, then twice and was enamored in the headiness of it before the tug and rip of fabric caught her attention again.

“CHEATING.” She shoved the wadded up shirt against his face, holding it across his nose and mouth as he sucked in a surprised breath at her outburst, eyes wide as they stared at one another.

He froze, exhaling a shuddering breath before sucking in another, not fighting her. With each breath his eyes shifted from glittering silver back to his usual soft light gray before they became filled with horror. He sat back on his knees, stumbling back and falling from the bed, yet keeping the fabric pressed against his face. He didn’t stop until his back hit the wall.

She pulled her wand from her arm holster and cast a freshening charm on the entire room, then stripped to her knickers and vanished the clothes to her bathroom for the elves to collect. For good measure she charmed her hair fresh twice before climbing off the bed and slowly making her way over to Draco. He watched every step she took, every sway of her breasts. She squashed the silly notion of covering herself, seeing as he’d had her splayed wide quite recently.

He held a hand up to ward her away, yet she merely linked their fingers together before straddling him and sinking to her knees, coming to rest on his lap. When she made to pull the shirt away, his fingers tightened, keeping it pressed firm across his face.

“Draco it’s alright, the smell is gone.” When he kept it where it was she frowned. “Look, just test the air, if you can still smell anything we’ll put it back.”

He thought about it for a beat before pulling it down and giving a hesitant sniff, then a deeper one. The cloth dropped to the floor.

“I’m—”

“Don’t you dare try to apologize.”

His features smoothed completely. “You’re right, what I did was unforgivable.”

Frustration rumbled in her throat. “There’s nothing to forgive. You did _not_ choose to do that.” Her finger poked him in the chest with every word.

“How do you know? I spoke quite clearly.” His head tilted to the side.

“Something in you shifted. I’ve never seen anything like that before, but I know the exact moment where you disappeared behind the Veela haze.”

“I told you I was a beast. Maybe now you’ll finally believ—”

She leaned forward, griping his waistcoat in both fists as she pressed her mouth hard against his before pulling back just enough to look in his eyes. “Shut. Up. With that nonsense. I read the diaries and I wager you have too. All we need to do is stay away from people for three more weeks. And I’ll try not to maul you so often.” Her cheeks burned, eyes dropping to stare at his buttons. The cool of the room had pebbled her nipples and the drag of them across his waist coat when she kissed him made her realize just how many sexual encounters they’d had recently that she’d either initiated or asked for.

His hands were warm on her hips as his thumbs rubbed circles. He leaned his head forward, pressing their foreheads together until she looked up. “There’s nothing wrong with what we’re doing, frequency or otherwise. Mates typically consummate immediately after acceptance, the urge is so strong. Even after, every diary I’ve ever read hints at an exceptionally active sex life. If you need me to back off, I will, but what we’re doing is natural. Don’t hold back on anything you want.”

She swallowed, then licked her lips. Due to the antiquated notions of the wizarding world, she’d been concerned that he’d start to perceive her as a hussy despite how he’d never even remotely indicated any such thing. On the contrary, so far he’d been enthusiastic about her touches and advances.

“Okay. So I’ll keep my distance from other people _and_ we’ll indulge those urges. That ought to keep things at bay.”

“Yes, that ought to keep the beast hap—”

“ _What_ did I say about that?” Her finger came up, hovering directly in front of his nose.

Quick as a flash he had both of her wrists behind her back and securely in one of his hands. The tiny twitch at the corner of his mouth told her he’d done that to get a reaction out of her, but he watched her steadily. Since she no longer had use of her hands, she rolled her hips, grinding down on the bulge in his trousers. He groaned low in his throat, his mouth falling open when she did it again. 

“I want to go get something from my room real quick.” No sooner than the words were out of her mouth he let her go. She rolled from her knees to her feet and made the short jaunt back to her room for a package Ginny had sent her. Since Hermione had no way of going out and shopping for things alone, and knew of no places to even see if they had a catalogue, she had to rely on Ginny.

She shucked her knickers in favor of a pair made of red satin. The box was exactly where she’d left it and quickly came open to reveal a black sheer bodystocking. She vividly remembered the way his hands had clung to her stocking covered legs the first time she gave him a handjob. So she’d requested the shopping assistance of Ginny.

When she returned, Draco was sitting at the foot of the bed sans socks and boots. His eyes immediately honed in on the knickers, and then drifted up to her hands. She went to the chair and spun it around with her wand. She was careful to sit on the edge before she unfurled the hosiery. His mouth opened, closed, opened again, then finally snapped back shut as he watched her slowly pull the lingerie on, gliding it up her calves, thighs, and abdomen before carefully pulling and adjusting until it felt perfect and clung to her skin. The thing she hadn’t counted on was the lack of cups but judging from the look in his eye, he didn’t seem to mind. She stared at him intently until he got the idea and slipped inside her mind for but a moment, quickly examining the imagery she was pushing at him. When he retreated his pupils were blown, eating up most of the gray.

She made her way back over, coming to a stop between his thighs. Fingertips glided along the outside of her knee, turning into a full palm touch by mid-thigh. Her fingers went to his waistcoat and with a touch of magic, it fell open. He cupped her cheeks, squeezing, then pulled her forward, flush against him, one hand sliding to the small of her back and the other dropping back down, fingers clutching at her inner thigh. His cheek nuzzled against her stomach, silky hair brushing along the undersides of her breasts, a slight quiver to his breath as he inhaled and exhaled. Warmth from his palms trailed along her skin as he explored the landscape of her. Hermione’s hands brushed through his hair, nails trailing along his scalp as he mouthed at her.

He tilted his head, looking up at her with lust filled eyes. “I’d like to add something.” The low huskiness caused warmth to bloom in her belly and she nodded.

Hands guided her back just enough for him to stand, and he pulled two lengths of wide red satin ribbon from his pocket. “Remember, no is always an option.” 

He watched until she nodded again, then gently grasped her wrists and began to wend the satin around them until she was firmly bound, but still comfortable. He tested her fingers after he was finished, having her flex and wiggle to ensure it was comfortable. With the other strand, he wrapped it around her neck, smoothly looping it around and around like a bandage until he tied a bow on the side, tucking in the ends. It was just snug enough to stay in place without constricting.

“Alright?” Thumbs traced along her cheeks, and she gave a dip of her chin. He pulled a long chain from his pocket and slid it through his fingers until a pair of simple clamps rested in his palm. When she didn’t object, he turned his attention to her nipples, pinching and rolling first one, then the other into a stiff peak before applying the clamp and twisting the little knob until it was just shy of painful. 

He looped the chain around his fist and began to slowly back around to his side of the bed. At first, she hadn’t moved quickly enough and gasped at the tug, catching up to him quickly. Dropping the chain, he spun her around, giving her just enough of a push to send her off balance and go bouncing back to the mattress. The chain bounced with the force, tugging at her again and causing her to groan.

She watched through hooded eyes as he stripped down to nothing, joining her and guiding her to the center. He rolled her to her side, facing away from him and he pressed his hips against her, rubbing his stiff cock along the seam of her thighs as his hand slid across her belly and gathered the length of chain, again looping it in his fist. She lifted her leg a tad when he nudged her with his knee, then felt as he slid his cock between them, the top tucked tightly against her satin panty covered crotch. He pressed his knee against her outer thigh, closing and pressing down until he was satisfied. She held her thighs tightly as the pressure of him left, doing her best to maintain it.

His hands returned to tracing her as he pressed himself against her back from ankle to shoulder, his cheek resting against her neck where he could nip and mouth the flesh not covered in satin. His cock throbbed and then he began to shift his hips, slowly thrusting against her, grinding his pelvis against her bottom. With every stroke his head brushed against her clit through the satin and she whimpered, biting her lip. Hot breath flowed across her neck with each pant from where he’d tucked his face against her.

The pace was slow, deliberate, as if he were determined to fully experience every sensation incurred from each thrust and drive her completely insane in the process. Every so often he’d give the chain a tug, as if to remind her it was there and delivering a heady shot of pain dusted pleasure. Her arousal began to soak the material, and he pulled her hands down to the juncture of her thighs, his head bumping against the pads of her fingers as he moved. The satin loops of the bow were gathered in her palm, and he curled her fingers in a way where he was thrusting into her palm, letting out a groan as she applied light pleasure.

His voice was rough, gravelly in her ear. “Do you like me fucking your thighs, Granger? Do you enjoy the feel of my hard cock so close to your cunt, rubbing your clit, yet not enough to make you come? You don’t have to answer, I can feel it with the way you’re getting wet for me.” He nipped her ear, pulling the lobe with his teeth and releasing it. “I could come, you know, and leave you wanting until I was ready to go again. Is that what you want? For me to coat you in my come and leave you high and dry?”

She shook her head sharply and yelped when he gave the chain another sharp tug.

“There’s no use in lying to me, Hermione, I can feel how positively soaked you became at the mere mention. Slide a finger on either side of your clit.” He waited until she complied. “Now rock them side to side and squeeze with your knuckles.”

She groaned as she worked herself, feeling the heat building quickly he began to pick up his pace, pelvis smacking against her bottom with each thrust and she whimpered. Quicker than expected, she felt the tell-tale flutters that came just before she came.

“Stop.”

She blinked, her fingers lagging behind, then yelping and freezing in surprise as he gave the chain a sharp yank.

“I _said_ stop.” He nipped her ear harder. “I thought you wanted to be my good girl?”

Her fingers trembled, aching to flick just a couple more times and send her into bliss but she remained still. “I do.”

“Then don’t make me have to tell you twice.” The ”Or else” hung between them.

“I’m sorry.”

“You certainly will be if I have to repeat myself again.” A tug from the chain gave all the emphasis needed to make it clear.

The knowledge that her body was still giving him pleasure while she was being denied fanned the flames.

“I don’t want to have to punish you, but I will if you give me no other choice.”

Scenes flashed through her mind, sometimes involving his belt, others his hand, occasionally a paddle, but always with her across his lap and her cheeks all but glowing red.

When her breathing became less frantic he pressed against the back of her hand and she started up the motions again. Again when she was seconds away from exploding, he commanded her to stop. She couldn’t hold back the low whine, toes curled and thighs trembling in frustration.

His pace increased, thrusting harder, and he had to move his hand to her hip to hold her in place. The fire fell just short of scorching when he whispered, “Wank.”

Her cheeks flamed to life at the use of the word in relation to her just as they had the last time he’d said it, but she obeyed, not wanting to find out just how he would punish her if he had to say it again.

For a third time, her fingers pinched, rubbed and teased until she was seconds away. She began to tighten around nothing when he said it again, voice rasping and harsh. “Stop.”

Her whole body seemed to tremble in agony over being led to the brink so many times and not being allowed to fall, a sob ripping from her throat as she stilled her fingers. Her nipples throbbed from the clamps, keenly feeling each tiny tug from where his hips were jerking hers along with the hand clamped there as he pounded against her.

Minutes later, he withdrew and rolled her to her back, dropping the chain on her before straddling her chest.

His hand moved furiously over his cock, the thumb of his other hand slipping into her mouth. She dragged the tip of her tongue across it before she sucked. His eyes were blazing and he withdrew the digit, moving his hand to her jaw.  
  
“Lift your head.” The head of his cock was so close to her face when she did. “Open your mouth and stick out your tongue.” His hand held onto her jaw after she complied, flattening the muscle and curling it up the sides. 

His eyes were boring down into hers when suddenly they slammed shut and his shoulders curled forward, a guttural groan wrenching from him as the first two spurts landed on her tongue. He redirected at the last moment, blowing the rest of his thick load across her cheeks. It made her wonder if he’d taken something to increase the quantity. 

He let go of her jaw and grabbed the headboard as he knelt over her, recovering until he stopped trembling. Gray eyes opened and he surveyed her. “Hold it.” Two pillows moved behind her head so she could relax again. The taste of him was tangy on her tongue as she held it in her mouth.

He wiped off the remnants clinging from his tip to her chin and climbed off of her, surveying her from head to toe, latching onto the tremble in her thighs and sway of her breasts as she breathed harshly through her nose.

“Remove your hand.”

She slid them to rest on her hip, fingers curled and nails digging into her palm. His eyes didn’t leave her face, as if he were memorizing the sight of her covered in his come as he moved to rest next to her hip. He gathered the chain again and parted her thighs with one hand, settling himself between them on his stomach and slipping her thighs over his shoulders.

“You were such a good girl.”

Her clit throbbed and desperation pounded through her. She couldn’t stop thinking about the taste of him and the feel of it on her skin, how he’d used her purely for his pleasure until now.

“Swallow.” 

She did, quickly, relieved when she could breathe through her mouth again, and a whine left her when he dragged the tip of his nose across her clit, the material drenched and clinging to her.

“You may come when you’re ready.” Her heart thundered at the words.

He peeled the fabric from her, yanking it to the side with two fingers and taking a long lick with the flat of his tongue before latching on to her clit and suckling, swirling his tongue around her. Her back arched, her head pressing against the pillows. He worked her furiously, gently tugging the chain. She lasted minutes before her whole body began to shake. A scream ripped from her throat as she came harder than she ever had before, and he gave a sharp yank, popping both clamps off, causing her to flinch away in pain-filled pleasure. 

His mouth slowed to a stop and finally pulled off of her when her trembling slowed to quivers and rested his head against her thigh, one hand resting curled atop it. He looked exceptionally pleased, mouth and chin coated in her wetness, when she opened her eyes again.

“That was the most intense thing I’ve ever felt.” Her voice was raspy, but it wasn’t anything a nice hot cup of tea couldn’t soothe.

“Did you like it?”

“Very much. Thank you.”

“If anything I should be thanking you, Granger.” His eyes were light, and he looked the picture of ease. “You look delicious with my come on your face.”

“Ditto.”

He blinked before tucking his face against her thigh and laughing until his shoulders shook. He’d laughed in front of her before, of course, but he’d never looked so unguarded as he did here, now, with her. He was so beautiful.

Blood pooled in her cheeks as she pressed her lips together, unable to stop herself from grinning. Maybe if she concentrated on that she could manage to keep any other errant thoughts in while she found out what exactly he’d done with the filter that went between her brain and her mouth.

When he was calm again, he rose and removed the ribbons, tossing them to the nightstand before scooping her from the bed and carrying her into the shower.

Much like the night before, he reverently scrubbed every inch of her and then washed her hair. Hermione had never felt so loved. She had to stop him in the middle of rinsing her mane to cup his face with both hands, focusing on the overwhelming warmth in her chest and imagining it flowing outwards through her hands. The tremble of his fingers let her know she was successful, as well as his repeated, desperate claiming of her mouth.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> See you all this weekend <3


	27. Chapter 27

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is dedicated to Nik, my beta, sweet Hufflepuff friend, and the reason I'm still able to continue on this winding, twisting tale. <3<3<3<3
> 
> Huge thanks to my Alpha/Betas NuclearNik and Monica03, without them I would be a mess and this story would be a disaster. Also a huge thanks to my Omegas (pre-readers) MarshmallowMcGonagall, QuinTalon, and Weestarmeggie!
> 
> To everyone who reads, subscribes, bookmarks, comments/reviews, follows, reblogs, likes, etc: I appreciate you all SO VERY MUCH.

The one overshadowing positive in the face of a week of frustrations was that Hermione felt better than she had in a long time, closer back to what she would term normal. She and Draco slept in the same bed every night and as a result, she’d felt more well-rested mentally, emotionally, and physically than she had since she was seventeen.

Sharing sleeping space with Draco was something that she’d be hard-pressed to do without now that she’d gotten a good taste of it. No matter where on the bed she seemed to fall asleep, she always woke up at some point with him wrapped around her, their legs often entangled and his face buried in her hair as if he were guarding precious treasure.

If she had to extract herself to slip off to the loo or get a drink he almost instantly woke up, eyes darting around as if looking for someone or something that was trying to steal her away. When she returned to bed, he would immediately pull her back into his embrace, and she would stroke his hair and back until his heartbeat and breathing slowed to a steady, restful pace that indicated sleep.

When sleep was harder to come by she was able to study his face in the moonlight, watching as his facial expressions morphed in dreams. Sometimes she’d be able to gently smooth out the furrowed eyebrows that she could only guess came as a result of unpleasant dreams seeing as they usually resulted in her being squashed more firmly against him. Her favorite times were when his lips would quirk at the edges accompanied by a contented little sigh. Those were the times she felt most at peace, when they were cocooned in their nest with no outside nonsense pressing in.

In their working hours was when the frustration set in. It was like chasing ghosts. Trying to hunt down any information beyond the basics for the Death Eaters and their families that fled the country or had completely gone to ground seemed nigh impossible. Draco had made a list of the families that had stayed and repented or at least pretended to, and he’d begun to ponder which were most likely to be harboring fugitives. A separate list was being made of all residences that had fallen empty or abandoned that definitely needed investigating. He’d made varying other lists but had deemed them of less importance.

Draco was set to meet with Robards and give a report of their progress so far and give their theories. They’d decided that it’d be safest if Hermione didn’t attend. Upon her insistence that he take copious notes, he promised the memory and a Pensieve instead. She didn’t argue. She could only hope that Robards took all of their evidence and extrapolations seriously and would at least send a few teams out to investigate some of the abandoned homes.

It made Hermione’s skin crawl to think of how much support for the Darkness there still was out there, silently wishing her and others like her dead, degraded, defiled for daring to step foot into the Wizarding World and staying there. Wherever these people had slipped off to, they were now being harbored by either old friends or family, or perhaps they’d taken over some unsuspecting family’s estate and were working from a base of operations like they had with Malfoy Manor in the last war. They hadn’t even begun theorizing a number of people involved seeing as there could also be support from abroad present as well. It had to be sizable, regardless of the origins.

There was one place Hermione knew they could find a wealth of information, and that was Gringotts. The goblins held no regard for wizarding law and also had branches in other countries. As long as one had their key, a witch or wizard could access their vault or account information regardless of how much of a fugitive they were with no worry that the law would be called on them. Hermione had barely been able to get her account back with them after she’d released that dragon, and Harry had been the only reason she’d been successful on that front. She was reluctant to push her luck there, knowing that it’d be the last time she’d ever be allowed access if she stuck one toe out of line, then she’d really be in a bind when it came to the matter of money and reputable banks.

Draco had toyed around with the idea of doing another tarot reading soon, but Narcissa was off globetrotting with Andromeda for the next few weeks. Seeing as he had access to the family vaults, he was tempted to get the extra deck and do it with the two of them with him being the conduit. Hermione was going to have to get her mind right if they were going to attempt it, however—at least in regards to tarot itself.

There’d been another point of frustration she hadn’t anticipated: they’d explored each other, dragging the other to new orgasmic heights every night, and yet still, during the day she found her eyes straying over to him as he worked. She stared at his long, skilled fingers gripping his quill as he wrote in his neat, elegant script, having to force her eyes away. The ripple of the muscles in his forearms called to her from her periphery as he squeezed a rubber ball while in thought, his fingers rippling as they moved in a pattern. His mouth was equally a source of distraction as he sometimes mouthed the words he wrote, testing them out before deciding to leave them. Pearly white, sharp teeth would sometimes nibble at the corner of his mouth and occasionally his dusky pink tongue would run across his bottom lip. All it did was bring to mind instances of the last two weeks that left her a screaming, trembling mess.

Lunchtime had become a challenge in and of itself, when work was no longer a distraction for sixty slow minutes. Whereas their lunches had once been the only bright points in her week, now they were torturous. Hermione was a firm believer in being careful with how one behaved in the workplace and what limited affection belonged there—that is to say, very little of it. Since they’d begun to explore their sexual appetites, however, that principle had begun to be put into question, and she had to decide if it still held across the board or if perhaps a few rules could be bent in the privacy of their office. 

The sight of him wearing black-rimmed, rectangular glasses to read was distracting in and of itself, often causing her to shift about and clench her thighs together tightly. More than once, to her utter embarrassment, she’d been staring at him while going off into some dirty thought involving him dressed like a librarian, a professor, or businessman. When she’d come back to reality, he’d been sitting there with his chin cupped in his palm, fingers curled in, pressing the backs against his lips as he stared back at her. It instantly turned her into a blushing, babbling mess and resulted in her stomping off to the loo just to escape the room and his heady presence for five minutes.

She splashed water on her face, performed cooling charms, took focus enhancing potions, and none of it seemed to do a damn bit of good. As soon as she re-entered the room and took sight of him again, her brain abandoned ship to do what it wanted. The most frustrating part was he didn’t seem afflicted in the same manner. He was  _ actually _ getting work done instead of openly staring like some love-struck fool fourth-year.

Absently, she noticed he was wearing a smoke-colored suit today that complimented his gray eyes beautifully. She had what she thought was a _ secret _ penchant for it, but perhaps he’d caught on. She thought over the last week and realized he’d worn all of her favorites throughout it. More than once she’d slipped into a fantasy of sucking him off in that very chair.

Eventully, she couldn’t take it anymore. “Why is it that I’m the only one between us making a fool of themselves?”

It took him a minute to return from deep thought and reply, his eyes unfocused and then sharpening and curious when he was back present again. “Granger, you could say that I adapted quickly at the beginning of Fourth Year when Pansy and Theo caught me staring at you in class repeatedly. Pansy thought I was enamored with you, and she was right, but that told me that I’d best bury it for the time being and try with you if we both made it through the war. If Voldemort had suspected…” He shuddered with a hint of fear. “There’d been nothing he wouldn’t do to use me for his purposes once I’d come into my inheritance. So, believe me, there was a  _ lot _ of me secretly staring at you over the years any chance I got when I knew I could get away with it.” 

“But  _ why _ now? I’ve been able to mostly contain my behavior at work so far.” She huffed and threw her quill in its jar with the rest of her collection.

“It comes back to the mating bond being unfulfilled. It’s pulling us towards one another in whatever ways it can. Again, I’m just more practiced at suppressing it. Although, if you lighten up on those little rules of yours, I could help you out.” His eyebrows bounced as his lips curved into a devilish smirk.

Her breath was robbed from her lungs, whooshing out of her in a gust before she swallowed hard. She could get her brain back on track and maybe not waste the second half of the day after the lunch hour was over if she gave in. On the other hand, if she did, wouldn’t that make her a hypocrite to betray her morals so easily over temptations of the flesh? Wasn’t that just the first step in the slippery slope down?

A warm sensation along the left side of her face and neck interrupted her mental debate, and she knew immediately what it was. He was watching her intently to see what answer she would land on. Her chair began to roll, and she whipped her head over to find that he was indeed pulling her towards him. Tempting as it was to put her heels down, she was more curious as to what he planned to do next.

When their chairs were arm to arm, he stole her hand in both of his and began to massage it gently. “Granger.” His voice was little more than a purr. “This is a unique situation, and I would certainly not think any less of you for wanting to have your needs met. Truth be told, I’ve wanked to the fantasy of having you bent over my desk more than once, but that’s beside the point. I’ve watched you struggle all week and get ever more frustrated because of it. Let me put you to rights one time here, and if you don’t like it, or you become too uncomfortable, we’ll stop and I’ll never suggest it again. Promise.”

She flushed when he talked about wanking to the thought of her, as she always did, but chewed her lip while thinking it over. It was doing nobody any bit of good for her to stumble through part of the workday getting very little done while her mind was overtaken by biological impulses. Maybe if she scratched this itch, she could finally be productive. He’d had to distract her every evening when all she could do is sit and think of how she’d wasted nearly all day at work, accomplishing very little aside from fighting with her own brain and body. After a few more minutes of waffling, she looked up and gave him a shy nod.

His mouth quirked at the corner. “I’ll take care of warding the room and add in a little extra in case someone doesn’t get the point. You undress down to those stockings only.”

While he moved to take care of the door and silencing issues, she stripped down with trembling fingers, slipping her knickers off last and placing them on top of the pile of neatly folded clothes in her chair. He returned to his seat a moment later and widened his knees, glancing at the ground between his black, dragonhide boots before flourishing his wand. After a complicated swirl, a thick, green, velvet pillow appeared. His eyes went from her to it as he tucked his wand back in its holster.

She slid over between him and his desk, slowly dropping to her knees on the pillow and resting her hands on top of her thighs as she sat back on her heels.

Draco studied her for a moment before leaning forward and cupping her face in his hands. “We need to talk a minute first.” Her breath hitched, and he stroked her cheeks with his thumbs until she nodded. “Did you know you talk in your sleep when you’re severely stressed?”

She blinked and froze. Harry had mentioned it a time or two but never went into detail. “I wasn’t aware it was a regular thing.”

“You’ve talked progressively more and more as the week has worn on. I’d hoped that wearing you out before bed with enough orgasms would do the job, but last night you apologized for not doing enough at least twenty times before I was able to get you settled back down and asleep.” His thumb brushed across her lips as he stared down into her eyes. “The episodes have lasted less than a half-hour, and they haven’t seemed to affect you until around ten in the morning. You’ve gotten distracted all week by no fault of your own, but in turn, you’ve carried around guilt with yourself over having accomplished so little.”

He wasn’t wrong. The guilt flared in her chest, and she twisted her fingers in her lap. “I’m sorry.”

“You don’t need to apologize to anyone. What you  _ need _ to do is let it go and move forward. We’re taking care of things right now, and then you’ll be able to focus. I would have suggested it earlier in the week but I didn’t think you were quite ready.”

“I have a hard time just letting things go.” The words wanted to stick on her tongue; it wasn’t something she enjoyed admitting.

“I know,” he whispered.

“Will you help me?” Her heart picked up as the words slid from her mouth. She didn’t know exactly what she was asking for, but she needed relief from the situation.

He leaned down and brushed his nose against hers before kissing her gently. “I’ll always help you. You have but to ask for it.” The words brushed across her lips. A shudder slid down her spine, and she whimpered as he claimed her mouth. A moment later he pulled back, releasing her face and sitting back in his seat. “Sit in my lap.”

Using his thighs for leverage, she rose and sat on one thigh, letting him drape her legs across his other, arranging her as he pleased. He gripped her waist with one hand while watching her intently. “I want to try something. I know this is new and we’ve yet to explore it, but I remember what you’ve shown me, and I think this will help alleviate your guilt more quickly, like lancing a boil rather than continuing to let it fester.”

Her heart picked up. “What are you going to do?”

“I’m going to spank you. Not because I’m angry, because I’m not. Not to punish you in any way, because it isn’t about that. I’m going to do it because you need  _ something  _ in order to let go. You’ve mentally flagellated yourself all week and have gotten nowhere. I can’t bear to watch you wear yourself down any further, so I’m going to step in and take care of you.” He pulled her in for a brief kiss. When she didn’t protest the idea he continued, “Place yourself across my lap.”

She blinked and stared at him a moment until he raised a brow, and she realized he was serious. 

She was going to let him spank her for her shortcomings, and it felt surreal. His words from the weekend came back to her about being sorry if he had to repeat himself, so she slid to her feet and made her way to the side of his chair, allowing him to guide her small frame down across his lap. She’d never done anything like this before.

He felt large and solid beneath her, his hands stroking along her spine and the backs of her thighs. “Good girl. Remember, this is not me punishing you. This is me helping you let go, yes?” A shiver raced up her spine at those words, and she nodded as she peeked over her shoulder at him, watching as he caressed her skin. “If at any time it’s too much, just say red.”

Nodding again, she let out a shuddering breath as she dropped her head back down. The warmth of his hand left her before it came down sharply on her right cheek, and she gasped. The second blow had her hands scrabbling to hold onto the chair frame. It was thrilling and anxiety-inducing at the same time as her skin stung and heated. 

She mentally counted to fifteen before he picked up the pace, and she began to squirm on his lap. A hand pressed firmly against the small of her back and she stilled under it. Her mind went over the past week, and she realized she really should have asked him for help of some sort by Wednesday at the latest. She’d wasted so much time, and now there was no telling how much ground their adversary had gained. She deserved every single strike for her failure. The stinging in her bum and upper thighs increased, her skin nearly on fire before the first tears began to drip from her eyes. Then it was as if the floodgates opened as the guilt she’d held tightly inside bled out of her through her tear ducts and wet sobs as she finally let it go.

At some point, he’d stopped spanking her and had begun to run his hand up and down her spine soothingly. He gathered her up and arranged her in his lap, stroking her back and the side of her thighs as she melted against him and cried into his neck. The fine, soft material of his trousers felt scratchy against her heated, sensitive skin and she quickly learned it was best to stay still. 

Finally, when her tears subsided, he tilted her head back and cleaned her face with a handkerchief. Gentle gray eyes assessed her carefully. “Feel better?”

Surprisingly enough, she no longer felt like Atlas holding up a world of guilt over things she was learning to deal with. “Yes, thank you. That was surprisingly effective.”

He kissed her again, pulling her tight against him. “I’m not particularly into that activity unless we’re talking about doing it for pleasure or fantasy fulfillment, but I’ll always do what you need. Next time let’s get well ahead of the game.” Fingertips traced along her jaw. “Your stubbornness is something I’ve always admired, but not when it’s to your detriment. If you don’t like doing things here and need to go home to wank in the middle of the day, then don’t hesitate. If you want me to come with, it’s highly unlikely I’ll ever say no. Just, recognize your needs and act on them, alright?”

She nodded. It didn’t feel as uncomfortable as she imagined it would, fooling around here in the office. This was effectively their own space, removed by a few halls from the DMLE itself. She turned her head, leaning over to close the space between her mouth and his neck, where she began to kiss and nibble her way up to his ear, capturing the lobe between teeth and giving a gentle tug. He shuddered under her, turning his head and breaking the hold she had on him, capturing her mouth and nipping at her lips.

The experience of the imbalance between them—she being nearly naked with the exception of the thigh highs he continued to pet, and he fully clothed in one of his best suits—was thrilling. He plucked at her nipples, teasing, twisting, pinching until she was groaning and shifting on his lap.

“Ready for the good part?” he whispered, claiming another kiss.

“Yes, please.” 

“Back on your pillow.”

She slid down from his lap back to where she started out at. Her cheeks and upper thighs were still highly sensitive, and she was acutely aware of the stockings she wore. Draco stood from his seat and unzipped his trousers, pulling his half-hard cock out and running the tip along her bottom lip. “Open your mouth.”

She licked her lips and let them fall apart, looking up at him. 

“Good girl. Get me ready.” Hearing those words would forever be a thrill. 

He slid into her mouth and she began to suckle, running her tongue along his shaft and swirling it around the head, bobbing her head up and down until he gathered most of her hair in his hands, holding it near the scalp, and halted her progress. Her eyes drifted back up to his, and then he began to move, sliding himself in and out. She pursed her lips, continuing to suckle the best she could as he fucked her mouth, his eyes shifting between hers and where his cock was disappearing between her lips. Warmth ignited in her belly, and she squeezed her thighs together in an effort to get a scrap of friction. She groaned around him and watched as his jaw clenched.

Her hands went to her breasts, pushing them together, playing with and pinching the nipples, putting on a show for him. It wasn’t long before his cheeks pinkened and he began to pant, noticeably having to restrain himself from thrusting into the very back of her mouth. Suddenly he pulled out and worked himself furiously, keeping her head perfectly in position with his fist full of her locks, until he fell off the ledge with a hoarse cry and thick spurts of his come coated her cheeks.

He stood, staring at her before his thighs wobbled. He managed to collapse back into his chair, chest still heaving. She leaned forward of her own volition and cleaned him with her tongue as he watched with glazed eyes. When she was finished, he caught her jaw in his hand and stroked along her jawbone with his thumb. “That was so good, Hermione. Are you ready to come for me, my good girl?”

She nodded rapidly and rolled to her feet when he motioned for her to move. 

“Lie on your back across the desk.” His desk was neat and mostly cleared off, which told her he’d likely been planning this for a few days now. She perched on the edge and reclined back onto her elbows, eager to watch.

He tucked himself back into his trousers and rolled over, placing her feet on the armrests and trailing his hands along her stocking-clad thighs with reverence, drawing a low groan from her. She saw him slip something on his finger, but before she could ask what it was, he tapped it with his wand and it began to audibly vibrate. Her thighs clenched as he stroked along her folds, the magical vibrator coming close enough to her clit to make her breath hitch.

“You’re positively drenched, Hermione. Did you like how I fucked that sweet little mouth?” His gaze was hot as his eyes dragged across her lips and his finger gave the lightest brushes against her nub.

“Yes!” She tried to focus on her breathing in order to stay still for him, then he pushed the powerful little vibrator directly against her clit, and she clenched her teeth in order to stay quiet. 

“I can tell. Your pretty little cunt is so slick and pink and ready for me to play with.” He slid two fingers in easily and quickly set a rhythm as he pumped them in and out of her. “Pinch your nipples.”

She did, groaning as she plucked and twisted, keeping her head raised to watch him as he stroked her nub with the toy. She keened between clenched teeth as he drove her straight to the brink between the powerful vibrations swirling around her in tight circles and his fingers curling inside her, hitting that perfect spot that had her limbs shaking. All of the play from before had done its job in getting her worked up, and she felt as if she were about to come apart at the seams already.

“I’ll never get tired of the sight of your face covered in my come.” She was so fucking close, and he had that telltale gleam in his eye that said he knew exactly how close. “You’re my little come slut, aren’t you?” She rapidly nodded, curls bouncing. “I knew from the first night you attempted to cover yourself in it that I’d be drenching that gorgeous face every chance I got.” Eyes flying shut, she collapsed back against the desk as her orgasm took over, smashing across her body and igniting fireworks behind her eyelids from how tightly she squeezed them shut.

The vibrating stopped as she was coming back down from her high, replaced by a soft, strong tongue, and she whimpered. “Shhh, let me clean you up.” She laid her head back at his muffled request and groaned as he laved her, licking up every bit. When he was finished, he waved his wand and she was clean again. She sat up and he motioned for her to return to his lap. Once she did, he wet his handkerchief and tenderly cleaned her face as he always did. He liked to claim her face was too delicate to clean with magic and insisted on doing it himself. Having worn makeup for many years, she knew better but refused to deny him the activity.

Once she was clean and back to rights, Draco produced a jar from his suit pocket. “One last thing. Bend over the desk.”

A dozen questions fought each other in her throat but she rose, resting on her forearms, palms flat with the hard edge digging into her hip bones. The scrape of the cap as he unscrewed it reached her ears, but before she could ask any questions he was rubbing the balm into the still hot, sensitive flesh he’d spanked to a rosy red hue earlier. By the time he finished, it felt as if he’d never laid a finger on her. When he was done, he nudged her back around. Her clothes were in his lap, and he helped her dress with reverent hands. Physically it was as if the escapade had never happened, but mentally, it felt as if the weight of the world had been lifted from her shoulders and she could think properly again.

Draco had been right. That was exactly what she needed to get her thoughts and focus back in order. She gave him one last kiss of thanks before sitting back down at her desk and actually concentrating on the evidence analysis reports for the remaining four hours. They only stopped for tea, where he nudged her into eating something more than a scone since they’d skipped the eating portion of lunch.

When the last workday of the week came to a close, she and Draco locked their office up tight and departed for the Leaky Cauldron, then into Diagon proper. They stopped in Flourish and Blotts for an order Hermione had owled in the week before and were headed down the street to the apothecary when the hair on the back of her neck stood up. It was the same feeling of being watched overtaking her just as it had the day her house burned to the ground.

She stopped in the middle of the sidewalk, the evening crowd easily parting around her and continuing on their merry as if she and Draco weren’t there. Their linked pinkies were the only thing that stopped and turned him around before they were disconnected. Hermione barely registered it as she spun in place. 

_ Searching, searching, searching. _

“Granger?”

Her eyes darted to and fro, and she began to backtrack.

“Hermione!”

She ignored him and made it a shop’s length away before a strong warm hand circled her upper arm and she felt calm envelope her for but a moment until he spun her to face him. “What’s wrong? What are you looking for?” Gray eyes scanned her face and their surroundings in an alternating loop.

“I feel it again; someone’s watching us, just like at my house when it burned.”

Then, her eyes noticed something amiss in the hustle and bustle, and fell across a tall, broad-shouldered, perfectly still man with a deep-set hood standing at the mouth of Knockturn Alley. A gaggle of younger women passed in front, chatting merrily and carrying a plethora of bags, breaking her line of sight. Once they passed, all she caught was the back of the man who’d been loitering by the entrance as he headed back down into the shadows of the alley. The absence of the gaze made her realize that the man was indeed the one who was watching her.

Her heart jackhammered in her chest and she pointed—too late—but Draco had already seen at the last moment. He was talking from the other side of static as she watched him pull a coin from his pocket and squeeze. Moments later they were surrounded by Aurors, Draco barking orders before squashing her against him and turning them into the void.

They landed in their sitting room, where he held her for another moment before stepping back. Immediately she began to pace back and forth to work off the adrenaline. A thought prodded her that perhaps she should give breathing a try, so she stopped dead inches from Draco and closed her eyes. Her hands were laced together as if in prayer in front of her ches,t and she underwent the mental journey of counting and forcing her breathing to come back under her control in measured exercises.

When she opened her eyes again, he was watching her with a faint grin, his hands tucked in his trouser pockets. “I told you you could do it by yourself. That you didn’t need me.”

Her eyes narrowed up at him. “Well, that’s a complete lie. I’ll always  _ need _ you. Always  _ want  _ you.”

She grabbed his tie and pulled him down until she could shove herself up on her toes and kiss him fiercely. He was fighting a grin as she mauled him, her hands running around his neck to bury themselves in his hair. It wasn’t until she essentially started to climb him that he finally pulled his hands from his pockets and hoisted her up by the backs of her thighs and stood straight.

He pulled back a bit, one corner of his mouth quirked. “Choking isn’t one of my kinks, I’ll have you know.”

“It’s not my fault you’re so bloody tall.”

“Veela genes, darling. Malfoys have always been tall because of it. Besides, you could have just asked for a kiss.”

“I felt that inappropriate to the situation at hand.”

His chest vibrated with repressed laughter for a moment before it faded. “After today’s events, we’re going to put a patrol in Diagon and Knockturn. An invisible one. We have a standing agreement with a few of the shopkeepers that will let us stand sentinel at windows from the upper floors under disillusionment. The memories of these Aurors will be stored and reviewed periodically to look for patterns of behavior as well as keeping an eye out for anyone suspicious. We need to rethink our exposure therapy as well.”

At that, her eyes shot wide. “We  _ can’t _ stop. I flat refuse to let this person who’s already meddled so far in my life to take anything else. Not another  _ inch _ .” She sucked in, then released a calming breath. “We’ll just have to go to Hogsmeade. It has all the basics we need.”

He thought about it before slowly nodding his head. “I’m not wild about it, but it’s better than nothing. The surrounding mountains and forest give too much cover for my liking, but we’ll make it work.”

“Perfect.” She stole another kiss before wiggling and sliding from his grip to the floor where she began pacing again. “I’m full of nervous energy after that.”

He watched her for a few moments before heading towards his bedroom. “Go change into some clothes you don’t mind getting dirty.” 

She was wearing overalls, her cloak, and boots when he got back. After looking her over, he snagged her hand and headed out the back door with her in tow.

“Where are we going?”

“Foraging. We need some fresh supplies for that potion we’ve been discussing.”

“Oh the—”

“Yes, that one.” He smirked, knowing that she hated being cut off.

He handed her a basket with a folding harvesting knife as well as a small sickle. For the rest of the afternoon, they spent time in the quiet of the forest gathering mushrooms, herbs, and fresh honey before finding themselves at the edge of the lavender fields.

Hermione crouched at the end of the row, glancing around every few moments as she cut handfuls of stalks and deposited them in the basket.

“What’s wrong?”

She glanced up at him. “What do you mean?”

“Granger, you’ve got your shoulders up around your ears, and you keep looking around like something’s going to jump out and start flinging curses any second. Now, what’s wrong?” 

That was odd, she hadn’t done that in a long time. Consciously, she forced herself to relax and let herself fall back to sit. “I’m just worked up over this whole stalker business.”

He sat next to her, their arms brushing, as she paused to assemble her thoughts. She took a deep breath. “During the war, when we were out there hunting down Horcruxes, we did our very best to avoid anyone because we never knew who was a snatcher or an informant. We could never trust to know when a bird wasn’t a bird or a fox not a fox, and we had to be on our guard every single second.” She licked her lips as her eyes drifted over the rows of lavender. “You’re tense, and you can’t tell if someone’s stepped on a stick or if it’s merely a branch falling from a tree, and you look down and you’ve got a delicate plant, ripped up by the roots and squashed between your fingers from where you’ve jerked it up, and you’re looking around desperately, trying to decide whether you need to make yourself invisible and try to run for it or prepare your mind for a fight.”    
  


A shudder rolled down her spine. “Then there are times you need lavender, so you go out _ so very early  _ to a field or meadow you’ve spotted the day before, but you don’t dare step out into the sunlight in the wide-open expanse, because again,  _ you don’t know. _ And then the early morning fog can seem even worse when Harry’s behind you in the cloak, and you’re knelt down, trying to stop trembling in the damp and cold but afraid to use magic in case it sets off any sort of alarm. You’re not sure whether the pre-dawn shadows dancing in the mists are Death Eaters for real or tricks your mind is playing on you as you hurriedly try to gather the adequate number of stalks you need and then some extra just for error’s sake as you wonder if you’ve made a mistake in venturing this far from the forest edge. And then you feel this trembling hand as it rests on your back, and you freeze and look around, trying to determine what they’re signaling, if anything, or just trying to be supportive. Then you look down, and you’re dripping blood on the ground from where you’ve accidentally squeezed the knife blade against your thumb in a haze of panic, so you quickly snatch a binding from your pocket because you always have one on hand, of course. You wrap it tight and continue to harvest until you can’t stand the openness and retreat back to the tent where you lay out everything and pray there’s nothing missing because you can’t stand one more tense minute out in the Forest of Dean, or wherever else you’re currently bedded down.” ”

A large, warm hand pried the sickle from hers and tossed it next to the basket before twining their fingers together tightly. She breathed, focusing on taking slow, even breaths until the shuddering faded and she could relax her muscles again.

“I’m going to do whatever I have to for us to catch this person so we can put this behind us and live a happy, normal life. I swear to you, Hermione.” He turned and stroked her cheek with his thumb.

Between the two of them it was only a matter of time, she knew. She caught his hand in hers, nuzzling her cheek into his palm and allowing the contact to ground her.

He took a deep breath and studied her for a moment before revealing what he’d apparently decided on while she went on her rambling monologue that she hoped explained her behavior. “I know you don’t like when we pay informants but I’m about to use my extensive contacts list,” he said, braced as if he were waiting for a nuclear fallout.

She wasn’t oblivious to the fact that he likely sprung this on her when she was least likely to care, but she attributed it to his self-preservation instincts. Nevertheless, she could at least appreciate that he told her rather than just doing what was one of his many tricks as an Auror.

While she didn’t approve paying people off for intel, her concerns lay with how easily an Auror could be backstabbed. The situation with Justin flitted through her mind, and she silently prayed that the team working on his disappearance would find him soon and bring him home. 

Her stomach twisted. Justin had become a solid, dependable Auror and his panic at their crime scene together was grossly out of character, as if time had warped and thrown him back to his unsure days in the D.A. He also shouldn’t have been taken so easily from the meeting with his informant. The idea of anything similar happening to Draco made her stomach twist painfully and caused her heart to stutter.

He tucked some hair behind her ear, bringing her attention back to him. “There’s nothing I’m above doing until you’re out of danger. I’m not asking you to like it, I’m just asking you to try to accept it.”

She nodded. “You’re right that I don’t like it, at all, but I understand, and that’s all I’m going to say on it. Whoever it was today, they were so close to us. We likely passed by feet away from them...” She could have been snatched, Portkeyed, or Apparated away in the blink of an eye.

The thoughts flashing through her mind must have been obvious because he turned towards her more fully and cupped her face. “If anything happens, just know that I will raze all of England just to get to you. There’s  _ nothing _ I won’t do to get you back, keep you safe, Hermione. Nothing.”

It was clear that today’s incident had affected him just as much, but he was just better than her at burying it down underneath layers. She leaned forward and kissed him before crawling in his lap and clinging to him. She understood him all too well. She’d burn down the world and Crucio everyone in it too if something happened to him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> See you all this weekend!
> 
> Also, MrsRen and I are doing a thing called Fic Club on Discord. We're on week 6 of 10 of a summer reading of The Fallout, so there's still time to hop in and join us! We'll be doing more fics soon and we're offering up the server for people to host their own read-alongs. If you're interested come hit me up on tumblr (noncanonlove.tumblr.com) and I'll send you the server link!


	28. Chapter 28

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Can you believe that this is the halfway point? It absolutely blows my mind.
> 
> Huge thanks to my Alpha/Betas NuclearNik and Monica03, without them I would be a mess and this story would be a disaster. Also a huge thanks to my Omegas (pre-readers) MarshmallowMcGonagall, QuinTalon, and Weestarmeggie!
> 
> To everyone who reads, subscribes, bookmarks, comments/reviews, follows, reblogs, likes, etc: I appreciate you all SO VERY MUCH.

The house was near-silent without Draco there to make some sort of noise. He’d left her a note that morning saying he was going riding at the Manor with his mother. Hermione, left to her own devices, found herself sitting on the sun-warmed sofa with a stack of ancient texts, including some of the Veela diaries. Still in her nightgown and robe, slippers abandoned on the floor, and engrossed in an old diary that Narcissa had sent her was where she was when the front door opened with a telltale creak. 

That was odd, they never used the front door. She pulled her wand out and held it tightly in her grip as she peered over the back of the sofa until the _click-clack_ of what sounded like toenails on the hardwood floors along with Draco’s familiar gait reached her ears. 

What on Earth?

Her eyes widened as the pair of them came into view. Draco was wearing tan riding pants, black knee-high boots, a crisp white button-up with the sleeves rolled to just above his elbows, and a green waistcoat. She’d never seen him dressed in anything remotely of the sort; all he was missing was a riding crop. Her cheeks flamed at the unexpected thought as her eyes shot back to his face.

The smirk that curled his lips and slight narrowing of his eyes told her that her thoughts were obvious, and she closed her mouth with an audible click. The glare she shot him morphed as her eyes wandered down to what had gotten her attention to begin with.

“Oh!”

The first thing that came to her mind was that he looked like a Doberman. He was solid black, deep-chested with a narrow waist, cropped ears, a long narrow snout, cropped tail, and powerful muscle. The thing that truly stood out about him were the bright red eyes amongst all the black. Around his neck was a thick leather collar that a chain leash was attached to, and the leather handle was clasped in Draco’s large hand. The dog sat tall next to him with his chest puffed out, the top of his head coming up above Draco’s hip easily.

She rose from the couch and went around, stopping a couple of feet shy of them. Slowly, she offered her hand for the giant beast to sniff. When he shoved his nose into her palm, she grinned and began to pet him.

“He’s lovely, Draco! What’s his name? What sort of dog is he? I’ve never seen one before.” 

“Remember when I said that my father had hounds? That wasn’t quite accurate. My family have been breeding Hellhounds and prize peacocks for a few generations now. People the world over want a Malfoy Hellhound, which brings in a nice income in and of itself.” He paused to watch the dog as he sniffed at her dressing gown, then unclipped the leash. 

“Ian named him Damon as a puppy from one of the extensive lists Mother gave him. When Father was sent to Azkaban, Mother would continue to get his opinions on the bloodlines for the breeding program. She can do it on her own now with relative ease. You know how she is with her genealogy interests. While she doesn’t actively participate, she does give Ian a list at the beginning of the year of what dogs are to be bred and if any puppies are to be retained from each litter, which ones need training to what specifications, etcetera.”

“Who’s Ian?” She rubbed behind Damon’s ears as he sat attentively at her feet, head leaned back to study at her. Those big red eyes brought back a certain fairytale line. _The better to see you with, my dear._

“Ian Scamander, of the Scamander family. _Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them_ by Newt Scamander surely rings a bell. That’s his great uncle. The entire family is talented in animal handling and husbandry. They’ve gone the world over to take care of beast problems, which have provided them with a fortune in and of itself on top of the old family money. They mainly use it to invest and breed creatures for show and sale. We’ve bought several horses and the occasional Hellhound to introduce new lines to our programs.” 

“Oh, I’m surprised he doesn’t work for the family business.” Her hand moved around to scratch the expanse of throat that was bared by the way the dog’s head was tilted back to watch her. She giggled at the pleased grumble.

“Every family has someone who doesn’t fit in. A black sheep, even if it’s only for a time. His father wanted to force him to go to America to set up a branch of their business, and he didn’t want to leave the UK. My father heard about it from Severus, who was Ian’s Head of House. Most of that family are Hufflepuffs with the occasional Ravenclaw here and there. Ian was an outlier most of his life. He was an excellent student, and Father capitalized on the situation.” Draco looked out the window as if he were looking into a Pensieve to the past. “Father interviewed him extensively, walked him around the grounds so he could demonstrate his knowledge and skill. He was hired before he graduated Hogwarts and moved into the cottage on the grounds the summer after his Sixth Year. It took time, but eventually, he and his family made up. Ian could have left to rejoin them but he liked the haven the extensive grounds of Malfoy Manor provided. No being sent off all across the world at the drop of a hat, no being controlled by his family; just a quiet job with animals and the staff that oversees the majority of them. He’s exclusively in charge of the dogs. It makes him happy,” Draco explained, trailing off at the end.

She couldn’t help but think of Charlie, running off to the dragon reserve in Romania. Ron had hinted once that Molly tried to force Charlie’s life in a direction he didn’t want. Ginny flat out told her that Arthur had secretly put him in touch with the person in charge of the dragon reserve because he couldn’t stand the thought of his son being so unhappy just to appease his mother.

“Forcing someone into doing something you want isn’t really the ideal way of going about things. It has a tendency to backfire on you.” Her gaze drifted to him.

“Exactly.” The word felt heavy in her ears as he looked at her pointedly.

She gave a delicate sniff but didn’t say anything, instead returning her attention to her new friend.

“I take it he’s housebroken?”

“Quite.” He ignored how she’d ignored him.

“Tricks?”

“Damon, shake,” Draco commanded.

The dog immediately held out an enormous paw for Hermione to grasp and pump up and down. When she let go it fell back to the floor with a loud _whomp_.

“Anything else?” It was hard to resist bouncing on her toes in glee.

“Well, he’s crate trained, does well on a collar and leash, and is trained as a guard dog so you’d be able to take him in public with you if you wanted. As for other tricks specifically, he knows to come, sit, lay, shake, stay, and of course what _no_ means. Anything else you’ll have to teach him. He’s not even a year old so he’s still very malleable yet.”

“I’ve never had a dog before.” Excitement lit up her eyes.

“Really? I’ve had them all my life, obviously. Father used to sneak puppies into my room sometimes if I was having a hard day with lessons or on the outs with a Governess.” It was rare that a grin curled his lips when it came to the topic of Lucius, but for once Draco seemed at peace while mentioning him.

She tried to imagine Lucius doing something sweet but had a hard time of it since her interactions with him were so skewed in the other direction. She knew, though, that his parents loved him very much, so with that thought in mind the abstract wasn’t so hard to imagine.

“Did you have your own dog ever or did you just enjoy the pups?”

“Father had one he shared with me. They live over twenty years and with me going to Hogwarts at eleven it wouldn’t have been fair for me to have one all to myself. He mostly stayed with me during my childhood, guarding and keeping watch over me and Mother, especially when Father had… company over. When I went off to Hogwarts, he went back to being Father’s shadow, but he always returned to me when I was at home and spent most of my waking hours with me.” Fondness laced his voice, and she found herself desperately wanting to know more about the good things in his childhood.

“What was his name?” Curiosity bubbled as to what Lucius would name a dog. It was likely pretentious. 

“Agamemnon. I called him Aggy because I was so small when I first learned to say it. Father made me call him by his actual name in front of others, but I called him Aggy in private all his life.” His smile faltered at the end, and Hermione inferred that the dog hadn’t peacefully died of old age.

A cold, squirmy thing settled in the pit of her stomach at the idea of what may have befallen the dog with what she knew of Draco’s Sixth and Seventh year, so she refrained from asking, not wanting to dredge up bad memories that would overshadow the happiness he’d lit up with.

“Can you teach me how to train him?”

He blinked and was back to the present. “Of course, it’s very easy. It just takes consistency and doing it every day. Is there anything specific you want to teach him?” 

“Erm, I guess stuff like spin, speak, roll over, sit up… Oh and fetch!” There was a strange excitement at the prospect of flinging a tennis ball for the dog, especially since she could use magic to elongate any throw.

“Fetch will involve a few more things like bringing it and giving it back or dropping it, but it’s easy enough to manage.” He shrugged.

“Are they any good at tracking?”

“Quite. It takes a bit of training but he’ll take to it quickly. It’s something the breed is naturally inclined towards.”

Reclipping the leash back onto the collar, he cleared his throat to get the dog’s attention.

He reached out for Hermione’s hand and when she lay it in his, he put the leash in her palm, curling her fingers around it.

Damon let out a bark and wagged his nub.

“That signifies that you’re not just a friend, but his owner too. Now he’ll listen to you just like he does me.”

Her face brightened, and Draco seemed enamored for a moment.

“I can’t believe you got me a dog!” She flung herself into his arms, giddy.

He squeezed her close, kissing her forehead. “They’re excellent for protection. This house is nearly impenetrable but it never hurts to have backup measures, and I imagine you’d like some company to Diagon once this whole mess is over. When you don’t need me at your side constantly.”

“I’ll always want you with me, Draco. There are times I may need to go and you can’t or don’t want to go. That and I need to be able to make trips on my own again eventually.” She peeked up at him through her lashes. “But thank you. It was an extremely thoughtful thing to do.”

A dog had seemed overwhelming when she’d been living by herself despite it being a sensible move, but now the addition felt right.

“While I don’t like the idea of you out of my sight, ever, you’re not wrong.” He set her back down and planted a quick kiss on her mouth.

She grinned at him and stepped back, unclipping the leash again. Moving back over to the couch, she dropped it on the far end table as she went past, her new shadow following just behind.

Reclaiming her seat, she went to pat the spot beside her.

“Not on the furniture!”

A pout took over her expression as she dragged her gaze over to him.

“I mean it, Hermione. He cannot get on the furniture. You can’t sneak him table scraps either. Bumble and Bee already have their instructions for fixing his meals and he needs to stick to that, else he’s going to get spoiled,” he said sternly.

“Next thing you’ll be telling me is that I can’t give him dog biscuits.”

“He doesn’t need biscuits! He’s already getting fresh meat for every meal and as a training incentive. And another thing, he needs to sleep in his crate at night. The door doesn’t need to be shut but it’s his own space, and he enjoys sleeping in it.” His eyebrows lowered and he got that stubborn set to his jaw.

“Really? I figured you’d just feed them kibble of some sort.” She was surprised, somehow, that he’d get real meat. In hindsight, she really shouldn’t have been.

“Kibble— You do NOT give a world-class Malfoy Hellhound kibble! They are performance animals and must be fed as such. It’s in every contract that’s signed for every single pup.” He scowled as if she’d insulted him.

She let that go for other questions, surprised he was getting so worked up.

“Let me repeat: I’ve never owned a dog, let alone such a special one.” Her eyes narrowed. “What else? Am I limited in the affection I can give him? Is he restricted to the ground floor? Can I not take him swimming with me in the pond?” Petulance laced her voice, her lips setting in a firm line.

He gave a sigh of long suffering. “No, you can pet him as much as you want. He can go anywhere you allow him to go. And no, he cannot go to the pond.” He hurried on at the sight of her mouth opening. “You can take him in the pool with you if he’ll get in. You don’t even want to get in that filthy pond anyway, Granger. Don’t try to convince me otherwise.”

He had a point, she didn’t, but far be it from her to admit that.

“You have a pool?” Her brows furrowed. How had she missed such a thing? They weren’t exactly easy to hide.

“Well, you _were_ rather drugged up when I gave you the original tour and after hearing about the library that part of it probably just flew right out of your head,” he said teasingly.

“Probably.” That was a fair assessment. She’d never been a big swimmer but she did enjoy it on occasion on holiday where it was warm.

A large warm head rested on her thigh, gentle red eyes looking up at her. She felt warm again as she stroked along his muzzle, running her fingertips up between his eyes, then along the top of his head to scratch behind his ears. Determination set in over the treat aspect and it must have shown on her face.

“I don’t want to take your joy away, Hermione. It’s just the only way I know how to have a dog and keep them in hand. Hellhounds are working dogs. People keep them around, not as pets, but as active protectors. Give them a centimeter and they’ll take a kilometer.” His voice was gentle. 

It was obvious he was trying to avoid upsetting her further, and she relaxed a fraction. He’d had dogs his entire life, and it was likely what Lucius had taught him about owning one. 

“It’s not going to hurt if I give him some treats now and then,” she grumbled.

He looked like he was secretly searching every nook and cranny for patience. “What did you have in mind?” 

“I was thinking maybe some sort of homemade dog biscuits.” If kibble was out of the question, boxed treats likely were as well.

“Biscuits?” 

“Well yes. I’ve seen them in pet stores before; they can’t be that hard to make.” 

“Where are you going to get a recipe?”

“I’m going to write to a couple of shops in Diagon. If all else fails, Draco, I’ll pop in a Muggle library and use the Internet.” Her eyebrows had drawn back together again at his stubbornness. It was just dog biscuits, she didn’t understand why he was being so difficult.

“ _We’ll_ pop in, you mean... What’s the Internet?” His eyes cut over to her. 

“I’ll show you one day.” A crazed grin dragged across her mouth as she thought about the things she could introduce him to.

“If you say so.” He left the idea of it alone, looking suddenly nervous, likely in response to her reaction.

Draco may have come around to many things, but it was probably still best to introduce him to Muggle things in small batches.

“Well, I do. Now I’m going to send an owl to the Menagerie in Diagon inquiring about books as well as Flourish and Blotts.” She hopped up and trotted off to her room, Damon happily following behind.

An hour later and she had a whole assortment of books tottering precariously on the coffee table. Draco was examining them with a critical eye as she flicked through a book specifically on Hellhounds. “I could have told you all of that. The whole stack’s worth of information.” 

“I’m aware. You know how I am though.”

“All too well.” A cheeky smirk pulled at the corner of his mouth.

She shot him a glare before putting it down in favor of a cookbook. Perhaps a pamphlet was a better descriptor for how few recipes it contained.

“Aha!” She pointed victoriously to the last recipe in the booklet. “This one is simple. Eggs, flour, peanut butter, honey, and pumpkin.”

“Sounds disgusting.”

“I bet he’ll eat every last crumb. It’s almost like a biscuit recipe.”

“Yeah, if you omit the butter, sugar, baking powder and salt.” He picked up the pamphlet. 

“I was thinking more of a peanut butter biscuit, except swap the flour and sugar. Besides, how do you know the recipe for iced biscuits?” 

That was an odd turn of events.

“Well, when a madman and his entourage moves in, the best thing to do is go where none of them would deign to and that’s the kitchen or the larder. After a certain point, you just get interested in what’s going on around you and learn something or go barmy. Mother has an affinity for them so there wasn’t exactly a shortage. There were only so many books I could read, after all. The library was a risky place. Never knew who would be in there doing some sort of dark research.”

“Oh.” That was likely the last answer she ever anticipated coming from him. He almost never spoke of that time and when he did, it was quite brief with an abrupt subject change.

“Yes, _oh_. Anyway, we’ll make some of these later and see what happens.” He seemed resigned to her experiment at this point, and she was not about to discourage that.

The image of working in the kitchen with Draco brought a smile to her face. “Lovely.” He’d helped her in the kitchen before a few times, but the idea of baking with him felt domestic in a way nothing else would.

Harry had told her all about his Aunt Marge and her dogs. She’d gotten the impression they’d be garbage disposals if they were allowed to be.

A snort and warm breath across her feet brought her attention back to the gigantic dog on the floor with his nose inches from her. “I can’t believe you had these and didn’t tell me.”

“You’d have found out if you’d let me bring you one when you were still living in that house by yourself.” He frowned and looked away. He’d tried a few times to introduce the idea but had ultimately backed off. Knowing what she knew now, she would bet the thought to just appear with one had been quite tempting.

“I wouldn’t have been comfortable having a giant dog to manage all by myself when I’d only ever had Crookshanks before.” She rolled her eyes and pulled herself from the couch. She climbed in his lap, straddling him and cupping his face in her palms.

His hands slid up her thighs and grasped her hips. “Still, Granger, I—” He blew a sigh through his nose. “Nevermind, the past is the past. We have extra protection now, so even if I get pulled away for some reason, he’ll be here along with Bumble and Bee.”

“I hardly think that’s necessary, but if it makes you feel better—”

“It does.”

“—then I see no reason to argue now.” She leaned down and stole a kiss.

As she pulled back one hand snaked up her side, slid up her back, and cupped her neck, pulling her back down so he could kiss her more languidly, his tongue teasing at the seam of her mouth. She opened for him, suckling on his tongue as it invaded, swallowing his groan as she stroked the muscle with her own, almost as if she were sucking his cock. The remaining hand on her hip clenched, and she rubbed herself against him. Her fingers were sliding their way down his chest when a huff sounded and she froze.

He pulled back by millimeters, voice slightly ragged. “It’s just the dog, ignore him.” Draco resumed exploring her mouth, the hand on her hip sliding down to trace along her thighs. Trembling fingers had just unbuckled his belt when another loud sigh came from behind her, and she pulled away to glance over her shoulder.

Damon was still in the floor where she’d left him, peeking up at her from his prone position on his side.

“What’s wrong with this bloody dog? I don’t remember Agememnon behaving like this.”

“I’ve no idea. Let’s go make him some biscuits, and we’ll put him outside after.”

“Or we could put him outside, and I could devour you on the dining room table.”

Her thighs clenched at that suggestion. He’d made her come half a dozen times the night before over the course of the evening, yet here she was wanting more of him. An addict is what she was clearly becoming, with him being her drug of choice.

“If you make dog biscuits with me, I’ll wear that body stocking again and let you do whatever you like.” She rolled her hips, rubbing herself against the hard length beneath her.

“I’m fairly certain I could convince you to be a good girl and do whatever I’d like anyway.” His hand gripped her chin, thumb brushing against her bottom lip. Her tongue darted out, flicking the pad before it invaded her mouth. She sucked on it, hollowing her cheeks, teasing with her tongue as his breathing grew uneven. He slid it from between her lips with a _pop_ and brushed her chin. “Couldn’t I?”

“Likely,” she whispered.

He leaned back in, lips brushing hers. “It’s a deal then,” he murmured against her mouth before claiming one last kiss, nipping her bottom lip.

It took her a moment to regain her bearings, realizing how tense she was and exactly how affected she’d become in those brief moments from the wetness between her thighs. He could likely finger-fuck her with ease with how slick she’d become. A sly grin curved his lips as he watched her, and she scowled at him. “Cheating.”

He laughed as she pulled herself to her feet and headed to the perfectly clean kitchen. The scramble of muscle and bone against the floor sounded before the click of toenails caught up to her. Ingredients were lined up as well as bowls and measuring cups. A flush stole across her face. There was no telling what the elves had seen when she’d gotten lost in Draco during their escapades across the house.

“I think you’ll need this.” The pamphlet hit the counter with a whap as Draco walked by and plopped it next to the bowl as he went to set the oven.

Right, yes, she did. He could erase her brain far too easily.

It was a simple process, measuring and mixing the ingredients together. While it didn’t exactly meet her idea of them baking together, his hands on her hips, his hard body behind her, and his chin resting on her head as he watched made up for the solo work. He was present, intensely so, and that’s what counted.

She dumped the dough out onto the counter and used magic to flatten it to a perfectly even rectangle. A twirl of her wand had an array of cookie cutters at her disposal.

“Just cut it in squares; he’s not going to care. If he even eats any of these things.” He snorted, his warm breath ruffling her hair.

She rolled her eyes upwards and thought about stepping on his foot, but she bet his boots were charmed impervious, just in case of an incident with a horse.

“I’ll do what I like.” The eyeroll he gave was practically audible, and she made a show of cutting out a variety of shapes and sending them magically onto the sheet pans. The dough was reshaped, and she repeated the action until there was none left.

A bake cycle and a cooling charm later had them ready to test out. She clicked her tongue against her teeth, causing the dog to hop up from where he’d been dozing in a patch of sunlight behind the breakfast table and come trotting over.

“Sit,” she commanded. 

When he had done so, she held a bone-shaped treat out by her fingers in offering. He sniffed at it a bit, looking up at her. “What are you waiting for? Take it.” 

Those seemed to be the magic words because he gingerly took and chomped it down. His eyes darted over to the surplus resting on the trays before coming back to rest on her.

“Alright, but just one more.” She cut her eyes triumphantly at Draco, who merely groaned and squeezed her hips in annoyance. She pulled another off and watched as he took it so gently from her fingers.

“Bloody marvelous.”

“I told you so.” She waved her wand and the treats lifted and flew into a glass canister that closed itself up tight after the last one landed on the pile.

“I enjoyed baking with you.” It was a surprise just how much she’d enjoyed his physical presence looming large behind her. Usually, she ran all and sundry out of her workspace, to the other side of the bar at minimum in her old kitchen.

“Same, although I only heated the oven and stood behind you. Maybe next time we can make a pie. I could make the filling while you prepared the crust.”

The thought made her warm and tingly; domestic. She’d never felt anything special towards domesticity before but it was different now. 

“I’d like that. A lot,” she said simply. “Caramel apple?”

“I’d not say no to it, that’s for certain.” He leaned down and brushed his nose against her neck.

She hadn’t anticipated enjoying making things in the kitchen with him and it was something she’d never realized she’d wanted until now. She’d never been interested in being Ron’s cook and bottle washer in the time of her crush on him, nor had she appreciated his attitude about it when he’d been with them during The Hunt.

She watched Dracoout of the corner of her eye as she cleaned everything and put things away, able to tell he wanted to say something. The elves would likely come behind her and give the kitchen a thorough scrub, but she was unable to leave the kitchen a mess.

Just as she was about to give in and ask, he spoke up. “I think we should do a reading tomorrow night.”

She put the last of the measuring cups away before facing him and leaning against the counter.

“You mean like the one you and your mother did a few weeks ago?” She was curious as to where he would get the cards. Narcissa said the other deck wouldn’t be available until Draco got married. Until _they_ got married, she realized. That is, if he decided he wanted to marry her. It wasn’t like she’d ever leave him or vice versa. She compartmentalized that thought immediately, wanting to turn it over in her mind by herself first and not make assumptions.

He nodded. “Full moon tomorrow night, optimal timing. Plus we have everything we need from our jaunt out into the forest the other day in addition to what I already have in my stores.”

“Where are you going to get the cards?”

“Mother gave me her extra set this morning. We’ll have to change up the herbs some and use some additional floriography to enhance it since this will be your first real reading.

She just blinked at him and resolved to ask later, instead going with another question. “I’m guessing you’ll be the one to do the reading itself? As dramatic as Trelawney was, probably the only accurate thing she said was that I wasn’t a good conduit.”

He merely nodded. “Yes, I’ll have to, seeing as they’re familial cards and we’re not yet bonded.” That sent her heart beating faster in pleasure at the ease of which he said it. “Although I don’t quite believe that you wouldn’t be a good conduit. You just need to open up to the idea of it more, with time of course. You can’t tell the scent of a flower if it hasn’t yet bloomed.”

She shrugged, not wanting to bank on anything with the topic. Even if she did actually open herself up, she still may not have any actual talent for it. “We’ll see what happens if I do manage to bloom.”

A grin slid across his lips. “I should do a personal reading for you one day.”

Somehow, that seemed appealing. “Perhaps as a Christmas gift?”

If it was Draco doing it, it was bound to feel as real as the session the other night, not to mention dreadfully intimate. She had a feeling she’d enjoy it even if she didn’t ever quite believe in it like they did. It was tempting to ask how he was at palmistry.

His eyes gleamed at the idea, and she knew she’d asked for the right thing.

“I would love to,” he whispered before leaning over and claiming her lips with his own, pinning her against the counter again.

Later that night, as she lay snuggled against Draco, she indulged herself in the idea of them bonding their magic together and even potentially soul bonding. Soul bonding was supposed to be rar,e and she’d never thought it’d be a possibility for her. The idea of getting married young had always been off-putting, but things were different now. Her thoughts drifted to what he may look like in the Wizarding World’s idea of wedding attire as she listened to Damon snoring from his richly padded crate.

Draco sucked in a breath through his nose as he woke, ruffling her hair with the exhale. “Can’t sleep?” His voice was groggy, gravely. 

She merely shook her head. 

“What’s wrong?” His arm around her waist tightened, pulling her back against him more firmly as he tucked his face against her neck.

“Nothing, I’m not quite sure why I’m still awake.” It was strange. She was warm, comfortable, relaxed. She felt safer than she ever had, and yet sleep was elusive.

“I’ll get you a draught, stay here.” His lips pressed against her neck and then he was gone. She shivered at the loss of the warmth at her back and she rolled over, her eyes scanning the room.

She realized that the snoring she’d listened to had stopped and her eyes sought out the crate. Two gleaming red eyes were open and scoping out the room attentively. They followed Draco as he returned with a thimble-sized cup.

The draught was sweeter than she remembered as she tipped it into her mouth and swallowed, which was rare when it came to Wizarding medications. Draco climbed back beneath the blankets and pulled her against him again. His hands drifted up and down her back in a soothing rhythm as she tucked her face against his chest.

“Thank you.” Her voice was muffled but she knew he heard it all the same.

“Always.”

The press of lips against her crown was the last thing she registered before dropping off into blissful sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> See you all next weekend!
> 
> Also, my fandom wife MrsRen and I are hosting an online book club called Fic Club over on Discord! We're currently in a summer reading of The Fallout (we're on week 7, but folks are more than welcome to still join in!), and we're also doing Once More With Feeling by Kyonomiko for the month of July. We also welcome people who want to host their own read-a-longs on our server! If you're interested in joining us, hit us up on tumblr: MrsRen & noncanonlove for a link to the server or if you wish to discuss hosting! (Attached art by me)


	29. Chapter 29

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Huge thanks to my Alpha/Betas NuclearNik and Monica03, without them I would be a mess and this story would be a disaster. Also a huge thanks to my Omegas (pre-readers) MarshmallowMcGonagall, QuinTalon, and Weestarmeggie!
> 
> To everyone who reads, subscribes, bookmarks, comments/reviews, follows, reblogs, likes, etc: I appreciate you all SO VERY MUCH.
> 
> Disclaimer: I own nothing.

Hermione paced around their bedroom, listening to stuttered snoring coming from the crate and stopping every so often in front of the large mirror where the chair still resided to check her appearance and smooth down her dress. It’d turned into one of Draco’s favorite locations for their activities to date. Once they started actually shagging she imagined the mirror would become a much more prominent prop. She’d noticed he loved to watch her—all of her—during their playtime.

She shook herself from her thoughts and looked herself over again. Her hair was up in the gigantic bun Ginny tended to favor when she was in control, which she had been only a few hours ago. Her mid-thigh length, red chiffon shift dress was flouncy and playful and certainly not intended for late fall, nor was the black bikini beneath it. Theodore Nott, however, had decided that it was time for a fanciful party and had informed all of his cohorts to dress as if it were peak summertime. Draco promised that it would be exactly as Theo described. The wizard apparently hated the cold and hosted an epic party like this annually since the end of the war.

Draco came into the bedroom, dressed in his usual three piece sans suit jacket. While he looked delectable she wondered sometimes if he ever dressed in a relaxed manner outside of his sleep garb. Perhaps she could bribe him into wearing a pair of Muggle denims and a t-shirt. A fitted t-shirt. Maybe even a leather jacket... She filed the thought away for later as the sight of two boxes in his hands caught her attention.

“I have a request.”

She eyed him. “Which is?”

His eyes went from her to the chair, where it silently spun in place. It was a marvel to watch Draco so effortlessly use the wandless magic his Veela traits granted him. The longer she lived with him the more he used it, having been so used to secreting it away from everyone. Curiosity overcame her and so she sat, knees pressed primly together, back straight, and hands in her lap.

He knelt in front of her and balanced the smaller box across her knees before opening the larger one at her feet. Inside were a strappy pair of high heeled sandals. She eyed them dubiously; graceful she could be, but heels had never been her forte. Harry had always teased that she was too prone to stomping or zipping away, but she’d always argued that it was simply a skill she hadn’t invested in. Not like girls like Lavender and Pansy had. She could walk at a moderate pace on level flooring for short distances in them and that had always been sufficient for her.

“For me?” He’d lifted one of her kitten heel-clad feet in his hand, the fingertips of his other hand stroking along her calf.

She pursed her lips in contemplation. “What do I get in return?”

Pride lit his eyes. “I’ll make a Slytherin of you yet.” She scowled at him but he ignored her. “How about we just say that I’ll make it worth your while.”

An eyebrow rose as she stared at him.

“What? You know I’m good for it. Don’t you trust me?”

Damn the man, he knew she did. She sighed long and low. “Cheating. You know I do.” She flexed her toes, pulling them up and popping the heel of the shoe off.

He grinned and slipped both of them from her, swapping them for the fancy pair in the box. “I charmed them myself, so they should be nothing short of blissfully comfortable.”

“Comfort isn’t my primary concern, in all honesty. My worries lay more along the lines of stumbling like a fool and showing my knickers to all and sundry after I end up sprawled on the floor.”

Gray eyes rolled, hard. “I’d never let you fall. You know that.”

“You can’t be by my side the entire night. One of us will have to step away for the loo and you’ll likely want to spend some time chatting with your friends without me.”

Fingertips traced up and down from her knees to the arches of her feet, and she repressed a shiver. “Correct. That’s where this comes into play.” He nodded at the box on her knees.

She picked up the green satin box and opened it slowly. On a bed of velvet lay a diamond bracelet with a ruby the size of a knut directly in the center. “There’s no way I can wear this.”

Long fingers plucked it from its nest. “Why? Do you think it’s too long?” He clipped it around her wrist with a speed she hadn’t anticipated, as if he didn’t know already that it would fit perfectly.

“No, it’s just it had to have cost a fortune! What if something happens to it?” She picked her hand up to unclasp it when a tingle of magic ran through the jewelry and the clasp disappeared, replaced by a familiar snake charm that held the ends together seamlessly. 

“It won’t. Besides, I’ve been remiss at giving you gifts.”

“I don’t need gifts.” Her hand rummaged around for her wand.

“I thought you wanted to do the whole pure-blood courtship thing? Or at least the part that occurs between us, anyway.” 

Damn it. “I did say that, didn’t I?” She released the handle, allowing it to slide back down in the pocket.

Normal women would lose their minds over what he’d just clasped around her wrist, but sparkly things typically had never interested her. She watched as he traced along the precious gems, admiring the way they rested across the delicate boning before he brought her hand to his mouth to place a kiss on the back. His gaze shifted up to her, and she had to suppress the urge to squirm. The look was heated, as if he would rather ditch the party altogether and devour her where she sat. If he got off on draping her in jewels, perhaps she’d have to reconsider her position on it. Surely the Malfoy vaults had enough without him having to buy new pieces.

“Fortunately for me, you did. Are you ready to go?”

“I suppose so.”

He rose and pulled her to her feet by the hand still in his grasp. The height wasn’t as bad as she’d anticipated and true to his word, the shoes were indeed exceptionally comfortable. She took a couple of experimental steps in them.

“Not as bad as you thought?” His brow hitched as he watched her get the feel of them.

“Admittedly, no.”

“I’m not sure where you picked up this whole thought process that you couldn’t do anything you set your mind to.” He twirled her slowly before pulling her in to tuck against his side.

“Well, when you’re broken and things that are effortless for everyone else impede you from living, it has a tendency to give you a bit of a complex.” Her lips pursed. Confidence, she’d found, was much more fragile than she’d ever given it credit for until it was in pieces at her feet.

“But you’re not broken anymore. True, you may have some fissures left over, but those too will heal eventually. It’s time to lay down that protective shield, because you don’t need it anymore.”

“Hmm.”

When they reached the traveling room, he turned to face her. “I’m telling you, and I’ll keep telling you until you believe it. You don’t need it. You certainly didn’t when you came into a wild new world where people told you that you were less than just because of your birth. Instead, any time I spewed vitriol you lifted your chin and proceeded to outdo me in whatever task was at hand. The war is over, there is peace—”

“There won’t be if we don’t solve this case in time,” she muttered as he wrapped her cloak around her shoulders.

“And we will. As I was saying, you need to remember who you are. You’ve got more bollocks than most of high wizarding society, and yet you think you can’t spend an evening in high heels. You, who can run and dodge through a battlefield of uneven ground with broken chunks of castle scattered about with spells flying everywhere like it’s a Sunday jaunt—”

Her head jerked back as she stared at him. “What are you talking about?” 

“How much of the final battle do you remember? Or is it all a blur now? Either way, I’ll never forget seeing you streak along like a valkyrie in battle, coming to the aid of friends who would have surely died had you not appeared at just the right time. All that and you think you can’t do an evening in heels.” He chuckled in disbelief, shaking his head. 

“I’m not sure where you were, but I can guarantee that wasn’t me you saw. Besides, you’re sort of wired to see me in the best light, aren’t you?”

“I’ll get the Pensieve from the Manor. I know what I saw, Granger, and I’ve no problem proving it to you. Also, I’ve no bias when it comes to you. I’m taken with you, that’s undeniable, but I think I’d be just as besotted even if I wasn’t afflicted with this Veela curse.”

She’d not say no to that. To see herself through his eyes was something she was desperately curious about. “Veela or not, my attraction to you would be no different either.”

“Perhaps.”

“It wouldn’t.”

“Regardless, I want you to walk into Nott Manor like you own the world, just as you used to act at Hogwarts. You won’t misstep, stop worrying about that.” He ran his thumb beneath her bottom lip and tilted her head back ever so slightly.

She glared at him for his dismissal. It was a pointless argument to have, because he was a Veela and she was his mate; nothing would change that. The way he dismissed her feelings on the topic, however, was inexcusable, but it’d have to be something they discussed later. They were going to be late otherwise and she despised tardiness more than anything. She straightened her spine and rolled her shoulders back.

“That’s my girl. Dirty looks and all.” 

Hermione wanted to preen but tamped down on it, annoyance still prominent. She still let him pull her in and run his nose along her crown before leading her into the fireplace. When they stepped out, it was into a surprisingly bright traveling room with rows of hooks meant for cloaks. Draco shucked his cloak, hanging it on the nearest hook before adding hers to the one next to it. After a quick wand wave to remove any residual soot, he led her through the Manor.

Her eyes darted everywhere, taking in the details. “This is surprisingly modern.”

“As soon as his father was marched off to Azkaban, Theo invested a pretty sickle in having the entire place redone. Wanted it nothing like the house he endured everything in while growing up. Said he wanted it to be the direct opposite, and this is the result.”

It made sense, wanting to erase the past while still having to reside in the space. There must have been something keeping Theo there, else he’d have likely flown the coop to somewhere else.

The sound of water reached her ears. “It sounds like the ocean.”

Double doors stood open and as they approached, she found that she wasn’t far off. Just through the doorway was a veranda with a beach bar set up, along with lounge chairs and tables with large umbrellas. Where the ceiling should have been was replaced by blue skies with a hot sun beating down on them. There was sand instead of ballroom flooring for twenty or so feet before the water began. As she looked left and right, it seemed as if she were looking down the beaches of an island, disappearing into the distance. The water too, seemed to stretch on into the horizon, making it feel as if they’d been transported to a tropical escape. As promised, it felt as if it were the height of summer.

“Is any of this real? Where is everyone?” She spun round to find that the doorway was surrounded by a beach house style facade with thick jungle stretching on either side as far as she could see.

“It’s real, to an extent. It’s some impressive magic though, no? We’re early, by our circle’s standards anyway.” He led her over to a lounge chair, sitting next to her and watching as she took in the view.

“So, is it like a portal elsewhere or...?”

“No, we’re still in the ballroom. The illusion affects you more because you don’t know what it really looks like. The sand is real and the water is real. It goes a good thirty feet out, near where the back wall is. Gives the guests who decide to partake plenty of space, prevents crowding. There are towels available to those who want to sun, floats for the water, that sort of thing. I think Theo said there would be a bonfire later and something about a feast.”

It’d been years since she’d been on holiday. The last bonfire she’d been to had been at the Weasley’s but she hadn’t been able to stay long due to the crowd. “That sounds lovely.” It made her yearn to go somewhere warm and remote with him.

“I hope you brought your suit, Granger.” Theo’s voice came from the door as he waltzed in dressed in cream linen pants and not much else, his long black hair pulled back in a low ponytail, revealing the earring dangling from one ear.

“It was part of the dress code. Far be it from me not to comply.”

“Indeed. Come, let me get you a drink.” She rose and met him at the bar, feeling Draco’s eyes on her the entire way over. “I suppose Draco’s already ruined the secret?” He gestured around them as a house-elf she hadn’t seen before climbed up on a stool and began to mix a couple of cocktails.

“It’s wondrous magic. The likes of which I’ve never seen before aside from the enchantment on the ceiling.” 

“One gets dreadfully bored after being under house arrest for so long. You can only see the same rooms so many times before you think you’re going to go mad and then begin to branch out in order to make a form of escapism.”

“You did this?”

“Indeed, Granger. I can give you a reading list if you’re interested.” Instead of the mocking look she’d expected, he seemed almost eager.

“If you wouldn’t mind…” It would be worth looking into since they were largely restricted to Appledale.

“Not at all. Draco likely has all of the same tomes in either library. If not he’ll gladly send off for them, I’m sure.” His eyes traveled from her own to her toes and back. “You look exquisite in red, by the way.” He slid a slightly smoking green drink in front of her.

A warm body pressed against her back and she instantly knew who it was. Of course he’d heard Theo, who was now outright smirking with gleaming eyes. She peeked up to find Draco glaring at the man.

“Fancy a drink, mate?” Theo had already gestured to the elf, not bothering to cover his amusement.

Draco merely grunted at him as his hands settled on her hips. She picked up her own drink and took a tentative sip. It was surprisingly bright, tropical, with hints of pineapple and melon.

“Good?” Theo asked as he handed Draco what was likely a whiskey neat.

“Very, thank you.” She took a deeper drink and leaned back into Draco.

“You two should try out the water or go on an endless walk. There shouldn’t be anyone here for a bit yet.” Theo wandered off back out the door, his own smoking drink in hand.

“There was no reason to get jealous, Draco. He didn’t even touch me.”

“He did it to get a rise out of me. Had I not come over, he’d have gone further.” He pulled her bum back against him, leaning down to nip her neck. “Then I’d likely have done more than come get handsy with you. Like rip his bollocks off and shove them down his throat.”

“You can’t go off on everyone that looks at me.” That would be a disaster. He would be in Azkaban by dawn.

“Just the ones that intend to touch you.” He nuzzled against her. “Do you want to get in the water?”

“Are you going to behave?” She tilted her head back as she drained her drink. It left her feeling almost floaty. Not inebriated, but as if someone had cast a featherlight charm on her.

He huffed a laugh. “I promise.”

“Then yes.”

No sooner had she agreed, he drained the glass before his hands went to her thighs and drug upwards, taking the flouncy dress with them as it pooled over his wrists. She raised her arms and let him remove it entirely. The shoes went next, and she handed them over when he held out a hand.

He left her at the bar while depositing their things on the lounger and stripping down to a pair of black swim trunks. It was a delight to watch him, and her fingers itched to undo the buttons herself. Unsurprisingly, the water was warm and it was beyond nice to simply float and let Draco tow her around.

Eventually other guests arrived, including Pansy, Ron, Adrian, and Neville. Some people entered the water while others claimed loungers to soak up some sun. As predicted, Draco meandered off to talk with friends after acquiring a float for her, and she wondered if he’d talked her into wearing the heels just to see if she would or claim that she couldn’t.

As she floated along with the newly manufactured current, she found herself getting caught up in all manner of conversations as she crossed paths with Theo, Adrian and Neville, and several other Slytherins. Even Marcus Flint had drummed up a chat with her on the state of Quidditch and how Ginny’s practices were going, seeing as he’d gotten a box to see the Harpies for the season.

When Draco caught up to her again, she was in a conversation with Pansy over pure-blood matchmaking after the woman had thoroughly examined Hermione’s ring and bracelet. The only reason Pansy was able to make her own choice in a partner was because Theo’s father was permanently out of the picture. Theo had contacted her afterwards to ask if it was what she wanted and when she said no, he canceled it without hesitation. She confided to Hermione that not all of them had been so lucky. Blaise and Daphne’s parents had forced their marriage and while neither were particularly wild about it, they were trying to make it work.

The most surprising part of the evening ended up being Ron. Several times she’d caught him alone in conversation with people he’d previously hated, and she wondered if it was a combination of working with them in the Ministry, Pansy’s influence, or both.

When the magical sun dipped below the horizon, Theo began to pile wood into a conjured fire ring. When he lit it, the fire burned in an array of colors, making her wonder if it was magic or driftwood. Music began to float through the room, mostly modern tunes from bands like The Weird Sisters, but a few older sounding songs made the playlist as well. 

Another hour of dancing and drinking went by before the room was lit only by torches and the bonfire. Several groups had gathered next to the fire, chatting while others danced in pairs. It was then that Draco convinced her to dance with him in the darker parts of the water. Despite being in clear view of all and sundry, it felt more private, and she pressed against him without a thought, arms twined around his neck as he whispered lyrics into her ear and traced patterns along her lower back beneath the water. It felt normal in the most delicious way. 

It was almost bittersweet when Theo called everyone to choose a table on the veranda. Dinner was a chatty affair, filled with wine and laughter. Neville snagged the seat next to her with Adrian on his other side. Goyle claimed the seat next to Draco with Marcus and Cassius Warrington rounding out the group. She’d been chatting with Marcus again, this time on the Transfiguration Mastery he was pursuing when Draco draped his arm around her shoulders. When Adrian began to put in his two cents, she took the opportunity to take a drink of wine and peek from the corner of her eye. 

Initially she thought Draco was glaring at Warrington, but when the man leaned forward in heated debate, she noticed for the first time that Lucian Bole was staring at her. It was jarring, being watched without noticing, and she wondered if it was the first time she’d been oblivious to it. Had anyone else been watching her throughout the evening?

She shifted closer to Draco and glanced over her shoulder to where their things lay behind them. It’d been the first time she’d been willingly separated from her wand in years and until that moment, she had been surprisingly fine with it. Now she itched to have it back in her grasp again. Draco struck up a conversation with Goyle, who had been polite yet not quite friendly with her, and it was as if the incident hadn’t occurred. She wondered if he’d glared anyone else down while she’d been engrossed in conversation.

Perhaps it was her paranoia coming into play, but every so often, she’d sneak a look over to the table, relieved to find that Bole had moved on to other things to entertain himself with. It wasn’t until his seat was empty and she noticed that people were trickling out of the room that she was able to relax again.

Warm breath ghosted across the shell of her ear. “Would you like to take a walk before we go?”

A walk to round out the evening sounded lovely. She was curious as to what Theo had meant by "an endless walk." They bade goodnight to their friends, and she slipped back into her dress. The temperature had dropped, and over the course of dinner the bonfire had burned itself out. At some point it had been vanished entirely. The beach looked smooth again, as if no one had stepped foot onto it. 

Draco led her to the left and they set out on a leisurely walk, fingers linked, hands swinging back and forth between them. The gemstones glittered in the rays of the full moon as it steadily rose overhead.

“Do you think Theo will Vanish this all in the morning?”

“Perhaps by the beginning of spring. When I said he hated the cold, I meant it entirely.” He pulled her into his side at her shiver, wrapping his arm securely around her.

“Why doesn’t he just buy his own island? Then he can be a snowbird.”

“He has duties to fulfill here, first.” Draco looked away, out into the enchanted waters, and she knew not to press. He squeezed her tight and her mind ran rampant with the possibilities. 

They continued down the beach and her attention was drawn to the water as it washed across their feet, the moon in the sky, and its reflection on the water. The beach stretched on ahead of them, smooth and perfect. She knew they had to have crossed the ballroom several times over by now, but the illusion was so perfect in its distractions it truly felt endless.

By the time she was ready to go, nobody was left but Theo, at the bar with a slew of empty glasses set up like a row of soldiers. He was knocking back the rest of another smoking green drink when they approached. “Did you have fun?”

“I did. You throw an unforgettable party.” Her mouth pulled up on one side as she glanced over her shoulder to take in a final look of the room.

“I’ll have to do another one soon, see if I can outdo myself.” His eyebrows bounced as he leered.

Draco sighed and summoned their things with her wand, draping his suit over the arm that wasn’t keeping her tucked against him. “I’ll owl you tomorrow.”

“Such a killjoy.” Theo accepted another drink, this one a glowing orange and red, as if it were lava. “And I’ll owl you first, I promised Granger something.”

Draco’s brows rose as he looked at him expectantly.

“Shan’t tell. It’d ruin the surprise.” Theo said, looking at her suddenly. “And if you still want it, you can’t tell until after you get it. I’ve got the perfect charm to ensure it.” 

“Why are you like this, Theo?” Gray eyes fell closed as he tipped his head back, as if he were being put upon greatly. It was unusual but good to see Draco behaving so openly with someone aside from herself. Had they always been so close?

“You wouldn’t have me any other way and you know it.” Blue eyes gleamed in the dim light.

“No truer words, mate. We’ve got to get going, it’s beyond late.”

“It’s just quarter til two, but I’m sure you’ve got to put Granger to bed good and proper.”

Now that she knew it was more of a game between the two men, it was nothing to push it aside and roll her eyes. Fred and George had said lewder things to her back at Hogwarts.

Draco’s fingers spasmed against her side. “Don’t even—”

“Again, killjoy. See? Granger knows I don’t mean anything by it. She’s not even ruffled, so get your knickers out of a twist, mate.” He tipped the glass back, emptying it in one slow go.

“Don’t get so pissed that you can’t make it to bed.” Draco turned them and began to lead her out the door.

“Something like that. Night, Granger!”

“Goodnight, Nott.” She waggled her fingers over her shoulder as they stepped back out into the hallway. 

As soon as their feet touched the marble, every grain of sand on her disappeared. Draco tossed her shoes down to the floor and offered his hand. It would feel awkward to walk the halls of another person’s home barefoot, so she took the proffered hand and stepped into them. The click of heels were all that could be heard as they made their way back to the Floo and home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> See you all next weekend! <3


	30. Chapter 30

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sooooo, hello again. I just wanted to drop a note to let you all know I didn't just randomly disappear. I had covid and was sick for 10 days, then it took a while for me to recover and then catch up on all my of real life stuff. Until I get my writing legs back under me I'll be moving the update schedule to every other weekend. Once I'm back in the swing of things I'll do my best to move it back to every weekend. <3
> 
> Huge thanks to my Alpha/Betas NuclearNik and Monica03, without them I would be a mess and this story would be a disaster. Also a huge thanks to my Omegas (pre-readers) MarshmallowMcGonagall, QuinTalon, and Weestarmeggie!
> 
> To everyone who reads, subscribes, bookmarks, comments/reviews, follows, reblogs, likes, etc: I appreciate you all SO VERY MUCH.

The fingers trailing up and down Hermione’s stocking covered shin was distracting. Her toes twitched, and she caught the smug look on Draco’s face as he continued to read, his glasses perched at the end of his nose. A scowl was shot in his direction before she buried herself back into one of the books Theo had recommended. 

As promised, Theo sent over the list Hermione had requested via house-elf the next morning, who left it with Bumble and Bee. After a quick breakfast, Hermione had decided that it would be a perfect day to spend in the library, seeing as it was pouring outside with occasional flashes of lightning and rumbling thunder. Before she went, she’d slid on a pair of suspender thigh highs and a moderately tall pair of red heels she found in the closet alongside the sandals Draco had strapped to her feet the day prior. A modified version of her skirt and Hogwarts cardigan completed the look.

After she strolled through the kitchen where he sat reading the paper, he’d followed her up, staying a few steps behind. She tamped down on the grin that wanted to take over when she peeked back to find him staring at the backs of her thighs. When she’d returned with a stack of books from the list, he was sitting on the love seat with the paper he’d been previously reading, patting the seat beside him. It had been tempting to take the chair directly next to him, just to be contrary, but when he grasped the crook of her knee and pulled her feet into his lap she was satisfied at her choice. His hand hadn’t left her since she’d cracked the first book open a few hours ago.

Luckily the subject was interesting enough for her to sink into and ignore him for the most part. Illusion magic was complex but doing it on this level was an entirely different sort of complicated. She was interested in trying it out on something as small as the walk-in closet in the room she’d considered to be hers before Draco had moved her into his room.

Maybe she’d recreate the heavens, then lie on the floor to stargaze while the sun was still high in the sky. A flutter of excitement brushed over her skin. She could plan a date under the night sky and not have to worry about bugs, the weather, or other invading factors. She bit the corner of her lip and read faster, jotting down theories and questions as she went. They’d have another picnic and if she could enchant the indoor pool, they could perhaps float in a boat afterwards and stargaze from the water. It was massive enough to fit a half a dozen easily with plenty of space to spare.

Fingers circled her knee, and she sucked in a breath through her nose and peeked up again. He’d traded the paper for an herbology book at some point, seemingly ignoring her entirely. Her eyes darted back down to the place she’d left at, but she was cut short.

“Have I told you how delectable your legs look when you wear heels?”

“No, I don’t think so. Is that why you wanted me to wear them last night?” It wouldn’t be surprising if that was the case.

“Partially.”

“Even though I only wore them to and from the ballroom?”

“You thought you couldn’t do it at all when I requested it. After you saw that you could, it noticeably carried over into your interactions throughout the evening.” He pulled one shoe off, sat it on the end table, and began massaging her foot.

“Perhaps.” She suppressed a smirk when his hands paused momentarily. “At least you were only menacing towards Theo.”

He huffed. “That’s because Theo was intent on getting a rise out of me. Better to give it to him early on than wait for him to escalate things until I couldn’t ignore it anymore. A glare seemed to take care of the rest of them.”

She stared at him. 

Warmth swirled behind his eyes. “You didn’t even notice?”

“Just the creepy little thing with Bole there at the end.”

He chortled. “Granger, Bole wasn’t the only one staring. Not by far.”

Her head jerked back, her pen dragging an accidental line across the notebook perched on her thigh. “What do you mean?” A thoughtless wave of her hand erased the mistake.

“Several men stared at you throughout the evening, hence the glaring.” An eyebrow rose.

“Strange.”

He scoffed and squeezed her foot. “Not at all. Rude, certainly, but I can’t fault them for staring at a beautiful woman, even though I hate when they do it. Not when I did the same for years.”

“Yes, but you’re wired to see me that way.”

“We’ve already discussed this. Even if I wasn’t, I’d still be just as besotted.”

“Perhaps.”

He scowled at her for a moment, opening his mouth before closing it again and blinking. “Ah, that was for last night.”

She resumed taking notes until the book, pen, and paper suddenly disappeared to be set on the console table behind them. “Hey!”

“You’re still angry that I was dismissive of you.”

“What an astute observation.” Her eyes narrowed as she crossed her arms, pressing back into the arm of the loveseat.

“I didn’t mean it.”

She yanked her foot from his grasp and stood, shoulders drawn up tight. His dismissal had rankled even though she’d temporarily set it aside in favor of them having a nice evening at Theo’s. His poor excuse of an apology rekindled her ire with interest. Large hands grasped her hips before she could take a single step and yanked. She flailed and fell back across his lap, her bum sliding into the newly created space between him and the arm of the sofa where he’d shifted over. The other shoe clattered to the floor where it’d been launched by her flailing. Before she could so much as twitch, he slithered one arm around her waist and the other across her legs, tucking her close against him. The heat of her glare should have caused the room to erupt in flames, but it had the audacity to stay the same.

“Truly, I didn't mean to actually make you angry. You didn’t react to praise so I went with what I knew would work, which was goading you. You have to know by now I wouldn’t disregard your feelings.” That was true. Not unless he had an exceptionally good reason.

Her eyes darted back and forth between his, studying him intently for any flinch or flicker, but he remained steady under her scrutiny. He wasn’t wrong about the history of their interactions, after all. When the anger bled from her body he leaned in, eyes intent on her mouth only for her to turn her head in time for his lips to graze her cheek instead. Warm breath puffed against her neck in a teeny huff as he dipped his head and began a trail of open-mouthed kisses down the column of her throat. Long fingers slid up her thigh, under her skirt to toy with the suspender and teasing the skin of her inner thighs. Teeth grazed her ear lobe, and she groaned as her hands found their way into his hair, lightly tugging at the strands.

He kissed over to her mouth, claiming her lips once, then again before murmuring, “I did say that I’d make it worth your while, didn’t I?”

“You did.” Her thumb ran along the sharp edge of his jaw, heart slamming with the thrill of anticipation.

He nudged her to her feet and followed, deftly unbuttoning the cardigan and pushing it from her shoulders and down her arms until it fell to the floor. Warm hands explored the newly revealed expanse of her back before sliding down and squeezing both cheeks, pulling her forward to press against the hard length of him.

Lips found her neck, suckling, kissing, nipping. Deft fingers unzipped the skirt and let it fall to the floor, leaving her in the suspender hosiery. He groaned into her upon the discovery that she’d been wearing no knickers, prompting a smirk to pull at her mouth. He pulled her over to the much deeper sofa, and she briefly wondered if he hadn’t recently magicked it to be larger. Gentle hands guided her to sit, and he sunk to his knees between her feet and pushed her back against newly conjured plush cushions. His eyes held hers as he descended between her breasts where he nuzzled while he stroked her sides, thumbs brushing the undersides of her breasts.

Her breathing slowly grew ragged under the assault of his caresses, fingers stroking through his hair as every contact point between them felt electrified. Her knees pressed into him as he took a nipple into his mouth and laved at it until it was a hard peak. The other got the same attention and when he was finished, he pulled her hands from his hair and placed them on her breasts, an unspoken indication to attend to them herself. He was still holding her captive as he began his descent, mouthing his way down her skin until he was between her thighs, slipping her legs over his shoulders. Her fingers pinched and plucked at her nipples as he teased her inner thighs and lips until she was whimpering. “Please, Draco, please!”

It was then that he dragged the flat of his tongue between her folds, causing her to arch her hips in an effort to press herself against his face. He held her down against the leather as he began a merciless campaign to disintegrate every last thought in her head. Her fingers twisted her nipples as he alternated between suckling her clit and laving it with his tongue. He drove her right to the edge, then held her captive there until she was a wreck, sobbing and begging incoherently. Only then did he allow her to fall over it. Only then did she finally break eye contact as she flew apart in a hundred thousand pieces and threw her head back into the cushions, screaming.

When she came back to Earth, he was leaning over her, into her, yet still carefully supporting most of his own weight as he watched her face. His mouth and chin glistened with her fluids, and he only seemed to notice when she began to wipe them away. He licked her digits clean and wordlessly conjured a towel, first cleaning her then himself before kissing the backs of her fingers. 

As he rose, she mourned the removal of his weight until he rearranged her to where he could lay beside her. Pressed between him and the leather cushions, she felt safe, warm, loved. She could feel his hardness pressed against her, but when she slid her hand downwards, he caught it, bringing it back to rest over his heart and covering it with his larger one.

“But what about you?” Surely he wanted a release too.

“This was for _ you _ , to make it worth your while. Like I promised.”

“You’re always worth my while.”

The slow spread of his crooked grin set the fairies to fluttering in her belly. “Ditto.”

She couldn’t stop herself from grinning back at him before tucking her head against his chest and listening to the cadence of his heart.

Rain began to fall harder outside. Between the gelatinous state of her limbs and the warmth his body provided, it was all she could do to stay awake. The fingers trailing through her hair didn’t help.

“When is your mother coming back?” Aside from missing enlightening conversations with Narcissa, there were things she needed to know.

“I think she said by the end of the week. Why?” 

“Because I have questions for her.” Perhaps she should just write to the woman.

“Why can’t you just ask me?” At her silence he sighed, his chest expanding, then rapidly shrinking under her cheek. “It’s that courtship rubbish again isn’t it?” He jerked when she prodded him in the ribs, one of his few weak spots.

“You can’t say you didn’t look forward to at least part of it.”

“We’ve been over this before.”

“We have, yes.”

He was silent for a while. “I think I know what you’re wanting to ask. It’s about the gift, right?”

“You’re not supposed to know.” Why couldn’t he just cooperate?

“Well, I hate to spoil things for you, I know about most of the process so it wouldn’t have been a secret anyway. If we were doing that antiquated operation I would have been on the lookout by now. You don’t need to give me anything.”

“That’s not the point. You’ve given me all manner of things and I’ve given you nothing!” More importantly, she  _ wanted _ to give him things. Wanted to see his eyes light up and a grin curl his lips as he examined it. He wore excitement so well, but so rarely it was a travesty.

“Not true at all. Have you or have you not sent me sweets at work? Lunches? Notes? Have you or have you not given me company, affection, patience, time, and forgiveness? Your understanding alone is a massive gift.”

She tilted her head back, meeting his eyes. “The sweets don’t count. Besides, I give you all those things because  _ I love you _ .”

“I don’t think you understand just how big of a gift that is, Hermione. It’s worth more than all of my worldly possessions.”

“Then you don’t have to be giving me things either.  _ You  _ are more than enough too.” 

The space between his brows crinkled. “In some universe in another space and time, maybe.”

Sometimes she wanted to see if she could shake some sense into him. “Draco.” 

"You want to know what I looked forward to? Fine, I’ll tell you. When I was a boy, my father called me to his study one day and told me the story of how he courted my mother _ despite _ the fact that he knew they were mates. He explained to me, in great detail, how he wooed her,  _ despite _ how it was unnecessary. Because she was worth it. He planned each and every date, gift, and outing because he wanted to prove to her that she was more than simply a biological and spiritual attachment that’d been assigned to him.” He cupped her face in his hands. “And you are worth more than that to me, too. I want to woo you because you... you’re  _ everything _ to me. The most precious gift in all of creation, and you’ve already given it to me on a silver platter. Let it never be said that I don’t revere the bounty that is your heart."

Her words stuck in her throat, thick like treacle in the cold. Draco was a man of few words, but many actions, so when he said those words, she was careful to listen to what he was—and sometimes was not—saying. One day, she would make him realize that he was worth it too.

There was something else she could give him, however. Something far more precious, in her opinion. There were times she had dreams and wondered afterwards if they belonged to her or if she had accidentally slipped into his. Blond curls and gray eyes would accompany her back to the realm of waking, fluttering into her thoughts at a moment least expected.

Her attention returned to the current conversation, and she wanted to tell him he’d already wooed her—that much was painfully obvious from the diamond and emerald ring she wore on her finger and had yet to take off. Nevermind that she lived with him and slept in his bed every night. Before she could do little more than stare at him, he crowded her even closer to the back of the sofa, trapping her against the supple fabric with his much larger body.

“And _ that _ , is why I will give you gifts, and plan dates, and woo you, and pour myself into showing you that I cherish you. Likely forever.” He dipped his head down and stole a kiss before pressing their mouths together more firmly.

Her nails drug against his scalp, eliciting a groan as she hooked her leg around his hip and pressed firmly against him. She pulled back after a few moments, waiting until his lips had reattached to her neck. 

“I’m still giving you something, so you may as well just get past that little hang up,” she whispered, shivering at the sharp nip he gave in response.

“Cheating,” he murmured as he pulled back to examine her.

She scoffed. “Is not. Anyway, it’s strange to think of your father as being a romantic.”

“I suppose my perception of him _ is _ a little different than yours, no matter my current resentment of him.”

“I’d think so. He raised you and gave you many good memories, I’d wager.”

“Taught me how to fly a broom, to tie my shoes, the love of sport, how to be a gentleman, and the proper way to love a mate... Ironic, seeing that it was you I was destined for. I bet he’d be rolling in his grave this second if he knew.” The smirk that spread was reminiscent of their Hogwarts days, and she shivered at the sharpness his past trials and tribulations had added.

“Cold?”

“Come closer, that’ll fix it.” There was no way she would ever mention it. He’d likely try to do away the expression altogether or something equally ridiculous.

“Any closer and I’ll be lying on top of you.”

“I fail to see the problem.”

He chuckled, summoning a throw blanket and covering her with it before pulling her snugly against him.

“Was it something you dreaded or looked forward to?” When he cocked a brow at her, she clarified. “Having a mate.”

“When Father told me about it I was intrigued. Relieved in a way that the choice was out of my parents’ hands, yet curious to see who the universe had paired me with. When I discovered it was you I was initially resentful. Partially because of our antagonism towards one another and partially because you were on the other side of the line, cohort to my greatest nemesis. When the Dark—” He paused at the stern look she shot him. “When Voldemort returned it turned to terror. When I was branded I mostly felt resigned to death but hoped that if I died it would be before coming into my heritage.”

“ _ Why? _ ” It was like something with talons had sunk into her chest and gripped her heart painfully at the thought of his death.

“Because if I died before it, you would have been safe from dying with me. I almost wished for it sometimes in the darker days, then you would have been free to live and love whomever you wanted instead of being stuck tethered to me with no choice.” She squashed herself against him, fingers clinging. It was hard to breathe until he stroked along her back with a soothing touch. “Mostly, I was afraid that we would win. If you weren’t killed outright, I could have taken you as a spoil of war. I did the impossible and paved the way for his greatest nemesis to be killed, after all, and regardless of anything else, Voldemort didn’t forget such things.”

“You had a plan…” It shouldn’t surprise her. People who valued survival so highly wouldn’t be caught without a multitude of them.

“I had several. One of the reasons I followed the three of you into the Room of Requirement was to keep you close. If it looked like it was going to be bad, I was going to Apparate you out, since the wards had been broken. Lock you up somewhere safe until it was over, no matter how much you’d have hated me for it. When I thought Potter was dead, I started edging closer to you, ready to snatch you and go at the first sign of renewed battle. Until Mother called me to them. Then the plan shifted.”

Curiosity reigned despite the other emotions. “What was your backup?”

They locked eyes. “Do you know what happens if a wizard intentionally shatters a Time-Turner?”

“No? We broke all of them when we dueled with your father and the other Death Eaters in the Department of Mysteries.”

“All of them in Ministry possession at that time, you mean. There are still time-turners out there, Granger. Both in England and abroad...”

Her breath caught. “Do you still have it?” Had he used it? Changed the course of time?

“Unfortunately, it was confiscated.” His lips pressed tightly together, jaw clenching for a moment. “Anyway, if you hold your breath and intentionally smash it, time will freeze until you breathe again...” 

Draco was fast, a lifelong athlete. It would have taken him seconds to get from where he was to where she’d stood, right in the front. It made her wonder what current plans were tucked away in his filing cabinet of a mind and what other trickery he knew about other magical artifacts. 

“So, where would you have hidden me away? Spirited me off to France perhaps?” Some ancient Malfoy ancestral home, or perhaps even a castle. She wouldn’t be terribly surprised if that was the case.

“I’ll show you sometime. There’s an old carriage house on the property well away from the Manor. Almost on the outskirts.” His eyes shifted to seeing something well in the past until she spoke again.

“Seems a bit far away…” 

“Are we magic folk or not?” His brows rose.

She supposed that if magic could hold up the Burrow like it did it could do nearly anything. “Indeed.”

“If you must know, my grandmother, Isabel, moved it when she became suspicious that my grandfather Abraxas was having an affair. He was, of course, in a sense.” He hurried along at the sight of her scowl. “It was within their marriage agreement that if plans failed and the Veela gene overrode everything they’d done, he’d be allowed time with and to take care of his mate. I can never decide if Isabel just didn’t want it to be so close to her home or if she was jealous. It wasn’t a love match, but still, no woman wants to see that, I’d wager, regardless of the circumstances.”

“Why didn’t he just divorce her or leave her or whatever it is that wizards do to divorce?” How could Abraxas not devote himself to the other half of his soul?

“Blood magic that had matured for twenty years bound them to the contract their parents foolishly made when they were born, trying to break what they thought of as a Veela curse. Their thought process was that if their children were bound before the coming of age, it would take the place of any Veela mating pull. It was strong, powerful magic. Besides, if he’d left her, she’d have been cast out of her home and supremely shamed and evicted from all but lower society.”

It sounded like historical fiction rather than family history. “What happened to them?” she whispered.

“He had my father with his mate, Vivianne—who was raised by Isabel—seeing as he was unable to conceive with anyone else. Grandfather wanted Father to grow up in England and attend Hogwarts like he had. Isabel had yearned for a baby so much she had little qualms with raising Father as her own. He looked almost identical to Grandfather, and she’d stayed out of the public eye, claiming a hard pregnancy, so nobody even questioned it.”

“So did Vivianne just stay in the carriage house the rest of her life? Did she have to play some charade in public?” Wizarding Britain was small, surely nobody could hold a farce for that long.

“No, Grandfather would never keep her caged like that. He bought her an estate in Belgium. He visited frequently under the guise of business, which wasn’t exactly a lie. He was constantly adding to the empire that keeps our family so wealthy, and she frequently traveled with him.”

“Did your father know her or did he just know of her?” Was it like that in reverse when she’d gone to retrieve her parents? Her gut clenched.

“He was allowed to meet her and see her a few times a year after he was old enough that they were sure he wouldn’t spill the secret.”

“How did he take it?”   
  
“He loved them both and appreciated the situation for what it was when he was older and could understand it fully. He hated his father for a while.”

“Do all Malfoy sons experience that at some point?”

“I’m not sure, but I’m going to avoid putting myself in the position to be hated for any reason, at all cost.” He tugged her impossibly closer.

“I just don’t understand, Draco. Why would your great grandfather do such a thing and risk putting his son and family through that.” Her brow furrowed.

“Father said there’d been a turnover at the Ministry and the new Minister was eager to crack down on the law after Grindlewald. So even though it was once fashionable and even seen as wise to infuse new magical blood into a lineage to make more powerful offspring, it became a danger, and Great Grandfather wanted to try to free the Malfoy line of any potential threats. So when Grandfather was born, a plan was put into motion.” He looked over her head, eyes distant as if looking into the far past.

With the lengths she’d gone to save her parents, it wasn’t so surprising to learn that a parent did what they thought would make their family safe one day. Something nagged at her. “But what about your parents?”

“What about them?” Gray eyes had refocused on her.

“I thought your parents had an arranged marriage?”

“They did.”

She blinked at him. It felt like Abraxas didn’t gain anything from his ordeal and was shooting for the moon like his father had. “So your grandfather learned nothing.”

“No, actually the opposite. Look, this is a story for another day. It’s long and not nearly as interesting as this one.” He summoned her wand from where it lay across the room, placing it in her palm. “You’ve been studying for a few hours now; show me something.” 

She had approximately a thousand questions but it was clear he wanted to change the topic, so she humored him by clearing her throat and flourishing her wand. “ _ Deducere Noctem _ .” The room fell dark around them, as surely as if someone had snuffed out the sun. It was as good as Peruvian Instant Darkness Powder. Draco froze beneath her until she flung out her magic with a twirl. “ _ Voco stellas _ .”

Stars blinked into being, covering where the ceiling would be and twinkling down at them. It had been her idea for a date, but she suddenly had a better plan. Not to mention, they’d been the only two spells of the lot she’d felt confident enough to cast with a chance of success.

“I occasionally forget that you don’t go by half measures,” he whispered as his eyes traced along the night sky, no doubt seeking out all the constellations.

She laughed softly. “Go big or go home.”

Outside of dueling with him, it’d been the largest use of magic she’d performed in a long time, and she could already feel the effects, like a muscle she’d almost overworked.

“You look tired.”

It matched how she felt then. “I underestimated the power it’d take, I think. I need more practice.” The feel of magic seeping back into her from the estate was akin to drinking something spicy and warm in winter. It’d been too much, too fast after having been so out of practice.

“Sleep, Granger. I’ll keep you warm.”

And so she did, tucked between his large form and the buttery soft leather of the sofa.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> See you all the weekend after!


End file.
